


The Beauty and the Beast - The Enchanted Tale of Edward Beaumont Drummond

by Bardwich



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alfred is not the beast darlings can you imagine oh no, Attempted Sexual Assault, Beast!Florence, Belle!Drummond, Closeted Character, F/F, F/M, Hairbrush Alfred JUST GO WITH ME ON THIS you'll see, I have reasons., Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, look me in the eye and tell me Edward is not the perfect Belle JUST TELL ME okay moving onnnnn, major character death coz we're offing Gaston at some point which is a spoiler to exactly nobody, mature stufff might pop up but we're keeping this PG, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:20:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21708103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bardwich/pseuds/Bardwich
Summary: Edward Beaumont Drummond and his father are newcomers to a small provincial town. When his inventor father gets lost in the woods, an enchanting story begins...... will it unfold as one would predict?
Relationships: Edward Drummond/Alfred Paget, Florence/Wilhelmina Coke
Comments: 16
Kudos: 19





	1. The Inventor's Son

**Author's Note:**

> "Huh, Edward is such a Belle," said the Drumfred fandom collectively agreeing and long story short this is the Beauty and the Beast Drumfred AU we all needed.
> 
> I have long wanted to get my hands on this story for two reasons:
> 
> 1) I love love love subverting traditional tropes and rewriting classic fairytales! This is something I was lucky enough to study a little bit at university and since no one wants to hire an English major, I will live vicariously through this story for the next couple of weeks just as Belle/Edward lives vicariously through his own fairytales.
> 
> 2) Although I love Disney to bits (I'm actually a Mulan girl at heart, which.... explains a lot. #bivisibility), what is fanfic for if not for fixing questionable plots. When brainstorming this, we Drumfred fans realised Belle is totally Edward but Alfred wouldn't pass for the Beast. And I thought: I CAN QUEER THIS SO GLORIOUSLY WITH A FEW CHANGES YOU WON'T KNOW WHAT HIT YOU. So that's what I shall attempt to achieve.
> 
> Some characters will be kept from the 1991 Disney version, although feel free to imagine Luke Evans as Gaston, I mean... yes. Yes. But more importantly: some characters are gender swapped, some are not. Everything is for a reason, sometimes you'll only learn why in the very last bits of the story if all goes well. Here's for revisionist LGBTQ+ representation as Disney at the time of writing this in December 2019 are still, unfortunately, cowards.
> 
> And since I couldn't name Edward "Belle" and didn't want to rename him at all to fit the French context, I used the conveniently appropriate Beaumont as his middle name, borrowed from one of the original authors of the tale, Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont. We stan.
> 
> Special dedication to @SheoftheBookandSong aka Mia for advocating Beauty and the Beast and for being Leo's no 1 fan and for allowing me to get my hands on this one!
> 
> Alors, on y va! :)

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young princess lived in a shining castle. Although she had everything her heart desired, the princess was spoiled, selfish, and unkind.

But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered her a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the princess sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away, but she warned her not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when she dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress.

The princess tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in her heart, and as punishment, she transformed her into a hideous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there.

Ashamed of her monstrous form, the beast concealed herself inside her castle, with a magic mirror as her only window to the outside world. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until her twenty-first year.

If she could learn to love another, and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken.

If not, she would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.

As the years passed, she fell into despair, and lost all hope.

For who could ever learn to love a beast?

***

No one could have suspected anything was amiss in the grim, dark castle in the woods as another sunny morning dawned on the quiet, little provincial town in the valley.

Life was so reliable, so ordinary here that one never needed to think too much about, well, really anything!

The same old roosters woke the townsfolks every morning, followed by the same birdsongs. The farmers had combed the vineyards for the usual delicious yield just like every autumn, and the mills were working away downstream just as they had every day and every night uninterrupted for years and years.

On the very end of a dirt-road lived the only two unusual people: a father and son.

They were newcomers, you see. Elderly Maurice Beaumont Drummond was a keen inventor and as such a rather eccentric figure who rarely left their house. When he did, it was only to showcase some odd machine of his at the fair, cogwheels and nails sticking out of his billowy, grey moustache.

His son, Edward, didn’t seem to mind his father’s oddity at all. In fact, Edward regarded his father as a genius and supported him as best as he could. He remembered how difficult it was when they lost Edward’s mother and he knew that it was work that helped Maurice out of the deepest grief and brought back his enthusiasm. He loved his father more than anyone in the world, no matter how strange his ideas were. He believed in him wholeheartedly.

But then, Edward did not exactly fit in with the townsfolk either…

‘I’ll be back soon, Papa! I’m just off to the bookshop!’

Edward stepped out of the house as every morning – with a book in his hand as always.

“Bonjour!” “Bonjour!” “Bonjour.” “Bonjour!”

That was the daily orchestra of Edward wishing people a good morning on his way, every neighbour he would pass, every shopkeeper, the man left in the pillory overnight for a petty crime or simply to sober up, the market vendors with their artisan goods, and the baker with his tray like always, the same old bread and rolls to sell.

‘Morning, monsieur!’

‘Where are you off to, Edward?’ the baker asked.

‘The bookshop! I just finished the most wonderful story about a beanstalk and an ogre…’

‘That’s nice…’ the baker interrupted, more preoccupied with making sure his daughter Marie didn’t drop all the freshly baked baguettes right on the ground!

And who cared about whatever strange story the Beaumont Drummond kid was reading? Everyone in the town agreed that Edward was a strange boy. For one, his father took his wife’s maiden name when they married! Both names passed down to the son. More importantly, he always had his head in the clouds and his nose stuck in a book! What on earth for did he read so much?

That’s what they said about him, that he was dazed, distracted, and kept to himself and his books too much.

Edward might have cared a little about what others thought about him… if he could indeed look up from his copy for a minute. Or indeed, if he was one of those people who could be satisfied with life as it was, plain and simple. But he was not. There must be more to this provincial life, he thought! Therefore, he rejoiced in losing himself in story after story, something bigger and more colourful for the imagination than how much eggs cost.

He hopped on the back of a cart and didn’t stop reading for a second, all the way to his favourite place, the bookshop.

‘Ah, Edward!’ the spectacled bookseller greeted him cheerily.

‘Good morning!’ Edward said with a big smile and went ahead to put the book back on its high shelf, feeling at home. ‘I’ve come to return the book I borrowed.’

‘Finished already?’

‘Oh, I couldn’t put it down! Have you got anything new?’

The bookseller, though sympathetic to young Edward’s love for books, laughed fondly. ‘Not since yesterday!’

Edward was unthwarted.

‘That’s alright. I’ll borrow… this one,’ he said, picking a book and sliding back down the ladder.

‘That one? But you’ve read it twice!’

‘Well, it’s my favourite! Far off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!’

‘Well if you like it all that much, it’s yours!’ the bookseller told him kindly.

Edward stopped in his tracks. ‘But sir!’

‘I insist.’

‘Well… thank you! Thank you very much!’ Edward said before being shooed out of the bookshop by the bookseller before he bloody well went and hugged him like he would hug his father when he was a little boy.

However, he was no longer a little boy, in truth. Even as he walked to the nearby fountain to start devouring his favourite book – he just couldn’t wait until he got home! – he was followed by the eyes of young girls: dewy, hopeful, love-struck eyes that would have earned them a clipping on the ear from their mothers, had they seen!

True, Edward was seen as a bit strange for being so well-read and for his eccentric father. However, no one could deny that he had instantly turned heads with his natural good looks as soon as he arrived in the town. His style was finer than what was usually seen here – his billowy white shirt was complimented by a blue waistcoat of which he took very good care and never dirtied, nor his matching cravat. If only it wasn’t for the apron he forgot to take off before leaving home! But as things were with his dad always working and his mother gone, the responsibility of running the house fell on him. Though he wished he could spend every waking minute reading rather than on his feet, he found the exercise beneficial and he definitely saw no shame in a son cooking – he even liked to talk to the cups, plates, and pans if he got bored. Usually, he told them all about what he was reading. Sometimes he would tell them about the part where the protagonist meets Prince Charming twice in one sitting!

Whatever he wore, though, he was a sight for sore eyes, as the townspeople said. He was tall, handsome, his eyes a warm brown colour with green flecks that reminded one of joyous harvest days, his hair chestnut and curly like the statues of Greek gods such as one would only see in museums in Paris!

Not that anyone from this town would ever have travelled so far. Most people had never left this little valley in their lives! But that only meant that Edward’s beauty was such as it was said to be completely unparalleled.

 _Almost_ completely. There was one man in town who was not at all pleased by this newcomer’s appearance. Not pleased at all.

 _BANG!_ Sounded a shot overhead some way away, disturbing passers-by on the ground – indeed, Edward nearly dropped his new book in the fountain from being startled! He went back to reading within seconds, too enchanted by the story.

‘Wow! You didn’t miss a shot, Gaston!’ Lefou was quick to say to the man responsible for the noise as yet another unlucky goose fell on the cobblestones at their feet. He quickly stuffed it into a sack. ‘You’re the greatest hunter in the world!’

‘I know!’ Gaston replied, terribly pleased with himself.

Gaston was the town stallion, taller, his shoulders broader, his arms bigger, and his jawline sharper than any other man’s. Indeed, the only one more in love with his charms than unmarried young women all around the valley was Gaston himself – and short, pudgy, and cunning little Lefou who never left his side.

‘Huh. No beast alive can stand a chance against you! And no girl, for that matter,’ Lefou insinuated, pointing to some girls worshipping Gaston from a hat shop’s doorway.

‘It’s true, Lefou… but it seems I have a rival.’

Gaston nudged his trusted sidekick to look at others who were too busy admiring the ever oblivious Edward to notice Gaston at all.

‘Oh, the Beaumont Drummond boy… he is a very handsome lad,’ Lefou admitted the problem. ‘But surely, he doesn’t come close to you!’

‘Shush! Look, even the baker’s daughter is blushing just at the sight of him!’

‘It’s only the heat of the ovens, Gaston, the girl needs a cold cloth. And a ring on her finger, which you could—’

‘Don’t talk rubbish! I know that look. No wonder he’s called Beaumont, he is a _beau_ and no doubt Marie wouldn’t mind if he was _her_ beau!’

‘Men aren’t supposed to be pretty, Gaston, but strong and strapping like yourself—’

‘He is strong and strapping enough, anyone could see!’ Gaston growled with fury! The stupid boy was so good-looking it made him quite angry, he wasn’t sure why!

‘No one surpasses you, Gaston—’

‘How could I ever propose to any girl now, when I know her head would be turned by this strange boy who prefers books! Look at him, sitting there, _reading_ even now!’

Edward did not notice any of this going on around him. Not looking up from his book, after a passing sheep mistook a page corner of most exciting chapter for a leaf of lettuce, he stood and walked in the direction of his and his father’s house.

Gaston followed. Lefou at his heels.

As they waded through the market, Lefou could find less and less convincing arguments against Edward’s charms and their effect on young women in his wake. Flattery of the most sickly kind would not deter Gaston from following Edward and his chiselled, manly face from contorting into an uglier and uglier grin.

‘See?’ Gaston sneered, face red and eyes watering from jealousy. ‘He’s so tall and handsome…’

‘You are taller and far more handsome!’ Lefou insisted. He wasn’t stretching: three pretty girls at the well were nearly fainting from the mere sight of Gaston.

But he didn’t care, he only had eyes on Edward.

‘I won’t be second fiddle to this… this…’

‘Look, Gaston! Marie is on her break!’

Lefou was right. The most beautiful girl in town, the baker’s daughter was outside the bakery. What’s more, like so many others in the street, she was trying to catch Edward’s eyes, and like all of them to no avail.

‘Hello, Marie,’ Gaston sidled up to her suavely. ‘Those are some sizeable baguettes there. But you haven’t seen my—’

Marie tore her eyes away from Edward and giggled. ‘Oh, Gaston. You are a _charmeur_ indeed.’

‘Wait, where are you going?’

‘My break is over. My father will be needing me.’

‘But Marie… I’m here,’ Gaston argued as if that settled it. Even her momentary hesitation was enough of an insult to his injury. ‘I see! Perhaps you no longer care for me. Perhaps you don’t want me to propose to you after all. Perhaps you care for that funny boy of Maurice Beaumont’s!’

‘He’s not so funny…’ Marie lied.

‘Yes he is! He is a funny boy, that Edward is!’

Lefou was nodding eagerly at his heels.

‘Well, he may be a bit strange,’ Marie admitted. ‘But at least he has a bit more sophistication than… _baguettes_.’

‘Sophistication? What’s that, a disease or something—wait, Marie!’

But the baker’s daughter skipped back into the shop, her long braid flapping behind her as if to say “Bye, bye, Gaston! See you never!”

He was furious! He had never been rejected in his life! He lost count of the number of windows he had climbed through upon willing invitations when the night fell… And just as he was ready to settle, this nobody from nowhere spoiled everything!

Lefou could barely keep up with him as he hurried after that damned Edward, who was only lucky that Gaston had used up all his bullets on the geese!

Edward was lost in the most thrilling story, dreaming of enchanted castles and Prince Charming, his legs taking him home without looking where he was going. Before he reached the bridge over the stream, however, he found his path blocked by a large man with a gun and an even more frightful frown.

‘Bonjour, Edward,’ Gaston growled.

‘Bonjour, Gaston!’ Edward replied politely and meant to continue on his way.

Alas, Gaston swiftly grabbed the book from his hands.

‘Gaston, may I have my book, please?’ Edward asked calmly. He had only met the local hunter in passing before but enough to know he didn’t want to waste his time on Gaston’s antics.

‘How can you read this? There’s no pictures!’

Edward refrained from commenting on that observation – because indeed Gaston was holding the copy as if he hoped to see a scantily clad damsel in the centrefold.

‘Well, some people use their imaginations.’

‘Edward, it’s about time you got your head out of those books…’ Gaston said and threw the brand new book in the mud! Edward was outraged but controlled himself. He didn’t have a sword, nor was he a knight of any sort, unfortunately. ‘…and paid attention to more important things.’

‘Like what?’ Edward asked and tried to swerve around Gaston to get his book before it soaked completely through.

‘Like me!’

‘You?!’

‘Yes, me. I know you are new around here – you and your oddball of a father. It’s only natural that you would be a bit lost at first. Some of the local girls might even imagine they find your foreign ways charming. But let me tell you about the way things are here, alright? Man to man. Well, Real Man to… you.’

Edward took advantage of Gaston praising himself and taking his advice paid attention to the most important thing at present: rescuing the book from the mud.

‘The whole town’s talking about it! You are a funny boy, Edward. It’s not right for a young, healthy, marriageable man to read—think about the implications, my friend. Young, impressionable, and most importantly _marriageable_ girls will soon start thinking _they_ ought to read too, to get your attention, and it’s no good for a woman to start reading! Soon she starts getting ideas… and _thinking_!’

‘Gaston, you are positively primeval,’ Edward said, cleaning the book of the mud with his apron.

‘Why, thank you, Edward,’ Gaston replied ignorantly and put his arm around Edward’s shoulders as if they were age-old pals. ‘What do you say we take a walk over to the tavern, take the seats by the fire right under my hunting trophies, and I tell you more about the way things go in this town? So you know to stick to your, uh…. territory.’

‘Maybe some other time,’ Edward replied, sliding out of Gaston’s uncomfortably close grip before the hunter’s musky scent caused his breakfast to resurface. ‘I have to go home to help my father.’

Edward turned on his heels, hugged his book close to his chest, and walked away.

‘Ha-ha-ha, that crazy old loon, he needs all the help he can get!’ he heard Lefou, obviously braver now that he had his admired mentor back.

Edward turned around from the bridge at the men, only noticing the prying crowd that had gathered around them now.

‘Don’t you talk about my father that way!’ Edward stood up for his honour even as the little foolish man was making faces with the intent to ridicule. ‘My father’s not crazy! He’s a genius!’

And just then, an explosion sounded from the house and a puff of smoke left the windows and chimneys.

The crowd was laughing but Edward was alarmed and ran right back to check on his father’s wellbeing.

‘Are you alright, Papa?’ he asked through the cloud of smoke, finding his father in the basement where he built all his contraptions. He was alright but less than pleased.

‘I’m about ready to give up on this hunk of junk!’ Maurice kicked his machine in frustration.

‘You always say that,’ Edward replied calmly, knowing this situation very well.

‘I mean it, this time. I’ll never get this boneheaded contraption to work.’

‘Yes, you will. And you’ll win first prize at the fair tomorrow,’ Edward insisted, clearing up dusty bits and pieces for his father even as the latter huffed in disbelief. ‘And become a world famous inventor!’

‘You really believe that?’ Maurice asked his son.

‘I always have.’

Edward was looking at his elderly father with such earnestness that Maurice quickly got over his qualms and got back to fixing his machine with fervour! Edward was helping, chatting to him every now and then.

‘Did you have a good time in town today?’ Maurice asked at some point.

‘I got a new book,’ Edward told him proudly. Before his gloom overcame him. ‘Papa, do you think I’m odd?’

‘My son? Odd?’ Maurice asked as he reappeared from under the machine in dusty flying goggles and a spring sticking out of his thinning, white hair. ‘Where would you get an idea like that?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s just I’m not sure I fit in here. There’s no one I can really talk to.’

‘Well, what about the baker’s daughter? Marie? I hear from his father that she would love to talk to you very much. And she’s a very pretty girl.’

Edward rolled his eyes while his father wasn’t looking.

‘She is pretty but…’ Edward thought about chapter three of his book where Prince Charming appears. ‘Oh, Papa, she’s not for me. I meant I don’t think I will make friends here,’ he finished elusively.

‘Well, what about Gaston? You’re the same age—’

‘Hardly!’

‘Well at any rate, he seems to be everybody’s friend! Why don’t you go to the tavern with him, you’ll make pals with everyone soon enough.’

‘Papa, he’s a cad!’

‘Gaston? Everyone adores him so! He’s a handsome fellow!’

‘He’s handsome alright, and rude, and conceited, and…’

‘Don’t you worry. This invention’s going to be the start of a new life for us,’ Maurice claimed confidently. He resurfaced from under the machine, put his hand on a lever, and they waited with baited breath for the magic to happen.

Sure enough,within a few seconds, perfectly chopped firewood was being produced by the machine and thrown into a pile in the corner! It was all Edward and Maurice Beaumont Drummond could do to duck out of their way!

‘It works! It works!’

‘You did it! You really did it!’

‘Hitch up Philippe, son! I’m off to the fair!’


	2. The Cursed Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elderly Maurice Beaumont Drummond sets sail to take his newest invention to the fair in the next town. After a mistaken shortcut, however, he finds more than he bargained for.
> 
> Meanwhile, Edward gets a surprise visit from Gaston and ponders about his life and the life he wishes for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Gaston is Gaston with added baggage he isn't handing well so he gets a bit physical and it's gross.

Maurice bid his son farewell in no time and drove away towards a nearby town where the fair was to be held just the following day. He really had to hurry to make it in time!

Though Philippe the horse was a sound steed and he was pulling the heavily loaded cart obediently, Maurice found himself still traveling through thick woods by dusk. He was worried that if he didn’t get a move on, he would be spending the night there, exposed to all sorts of dangers: wild animals, and worse, thieving bandits.

He came to a stop at a crossroads. The faded board was of little help but he knew that the usual road most certainly led to his destination. Alas, he also knew it would take another day’s travel and both he and his horse were tired.

The other road was different. It was darker and an unnatural mist seemed to have descended upon it. However, if Maurice was right, it would take them to the fair with time to spare.

Though Philippe was acting up, Maurice tugged on the harnesses and chose the unknown path for the promise of a shortcut.

Strange, he thought. Although trees had begun to go amber and crimson, this road was unusually chilly for the time of year, whether sheltered by a heavy, dark canopy of branches overhead or not.

They were traveling for hours and yet the woods would not end, therefore Maurice consulted his map by firelight.

Suddenly, strange and menacing noises sounded from the thick of the forest. Philippe stopped in his tracks out of instinct. Maurice, though frustrated at the horse’s cowardice, agreed that they had better turn around after all.

As they did so, the rear of the cart hit an ancient tree and a hundred bats flew out of its dark burrow, startling them both!

Now the horse really took off, galloping fast until it nearly drove them right over a cliff’s edge into their deaths! It was all Maurice could do to stop him!

Just then, more screeches and howls sounded from the wild woods—Philippe jumped from the fright, throwing off his owner and smashing the lamp on the rock, and set off back down the path before Maurice could so much as get back on his feet!

Well, he was in a pickle now, he thought. Alas, his worries turned into downright terror when he saw hungry pairs of eyes glinting in the darkness, all staring at him.

Wolves.

He ran, ran with all his might!

He ran until he tripped and slid down a slope. He landed quite roughly right before a pair of iron gates taller than any house in the village!

With the beasts on his tail, he had to try it. And thank the Lord and all that was good that after a bit of tugging the gates opened! He slid right through and shut the latch, barely escaping the pack of wolves, though not before they had a taste of his shoes!

His hat had fallen off in the battle but he was not going to take a step closer to the gates now that he was safe at last, no sir!

Tentatively, he walked up an enormous, winding stone path and even in the darkness of the night, he beheld with awe the most incredible castle! Pulling his cape up to protect himself from the sudden, icy rain, he braved the bridge leading to the entrance, gargoyles ogling him from the edges, the depth below them well over a thousand feet if not more!

He didn’t mean to intrude unwanted but anything he would find in the castle was better than the woodland beasts and the pouring rain!

He entered a spacious hall with an enormous staircase and mullioned windows as tall as those of cathedrals.

‘Hello! Hellooo!’ he called, his voice echoing in the apparently empty palace.

He was cold and may have hit his head but he thought he heard voices.

‘Hello! Is someone there?’ Maurice tried again, hoping someone was indeed listening. ‘I don’t mean to intrude but I’ve lost my horse and I need a place to stay for the night!’

‘Of course, monsieur, you’re welcome here!’

‘Who said that?’ Maurice asked, grabbing candelabra off a nearby marble console table.

‘Over here!’ the same voice spoke.

But Maurice turned and saw not a soul!

‘Where?’ he asked.

… and felt a knock on the top of his head.

‘’Allo,’ the candlestick said.

The candlestick.

The candlestick spoke. It had a mouth, eyes, a molten little nose, and it had definitely spoken words aloud.

Maurice dropped the little thing in fright! But, in his defence, he had never been greeted by a candle before!

‘Incredible!’ he said out loud! For all his years inventing, he had never dreamed of such a marvel as a speaking candle! Or the clock! With which—with whom?—the candle was now bickering.

He couldn’t help but pick them up and observe them—causing somewhat of a distress to the clock that seemed very ticklish and very protective of its inner contents.

‘I beg your pardon, it’s just that I’ve never seen a clock that…ahhh… I mean… ahhh ahhhh ahhhhh-chooo!’

Maurice did not know how hard he must have hit his head to imagine that he was having a conversation with a candle and a clock but one thing was sure: the cold had affected him so.

‘Oh, you are soaked to the bone, monsieur!’ Lumiere, the candle said. ‘Come, warm yourself by the fire!’

‘No, no, no, do you know what the mistress would do if she finds you here?! I demand that you stop right there!’ Cogsworth, the clock, grumbled and argued but Maurice was soon taken care of, very good care of indeed.

As it turned out, other objects were acting of their own accord here, too. In no time, he was sitting in a comfy armchair by the fire, a blanket thrown on his lap by a very chivalrous coat stand, his feet propped up on a barking footstool, and a talking teapot poured him steaming tea into a chipped but chirpy little cup!

‘Ha ha! His moustache tickles, Mama!’

Maurice was quite embarrassed but also terribly amused! ‘Oh? Hello!’

In his wonder, he didn’t suspect that there was someone watching him… someone who wasn’t as welcoming as the company he had met…

‘Uh oh…’ Chip the cup warned as he saw the mistress enter.

‘There is a stranger here!’ Maurice heard a deep, chilling growl from the doorway.

All lights and warmth disappeared from the room at once.

‘Mistress, allow me to explain,’ Lumiere began, ‘The gentleman was lost in the woods and—’

A terrible roar silenced the little candle at once, striking fear into the hearts – flesh, cogwheel, or porcelain – of all.

‘Mistress, I’d like to take a moment to say,’ Cogsworth, who previously hid under the carpet, piped up heroically, ‘…that I was against this from the start, I tried to stop them but would they listen to me? No, no, no!’

The Beast did not care for any excuses and filled the room with another terrible growl.

‘Who are you?! What are you doing here?’ she asked a trembling Maurice.

‘I… I was… in the woods and…’

‘You are not welcome here!’ she cried at him.

‘I’m sorry!’

‘What are you staring at?’

‘N-n-nothing!’ Maurice stuttered, hoping to take his leave now, if his shaky knees held him up enough to run!

Alas, the terrible Beast was in the doorway in a flash, blocking his way.

‘So, you’ve come to stare at the beast, have you?’ she asked, fury rising in her throat, hair standing on her caped back, a hundred times more terrifying than a whole pack of wolves!

‘Please, I meant no harm!’ Maurice insisted honestly. ‘I just needed a place to stay!’

‘I’ll give you a place to stay!’

The terrible Beast picked up Maurice as easily as a cat does its kittens—or rather more accurately to the situation, as its prey!—and swept out of the room, into the dark depths of the castle.

***

Back in the town, true to form, Edward couldn’t put down his book. He even forgot about fixing himself breakfast, with his Papa out of the house! He knew he would have to get up and feed the chickens at some point but… just one more chapter…!

Alas, a knock on the door interrupted him anyway.

Could it be his Papa already? He wasn’t supposed to be back until the evening.

He checked who it was through the peephole for safety—one of his father’s best inventions—and sighed.

Gaston.

Edward couldn’t very well pretend not to be at home. It was wiser anyway to confront one’s tasks, even and especially if they were promising to be disagreeable. So, he braced himself for the boorish phenomenon that the hunter was at the best of times and opened the door.

‘Gaston, what a…’ Edward began and lost his footing for a second as, instead of a smirking cad, he saw an incredibly displeased Gaston covered from head to toe in dried mud. ‘…pleasant surprise.’

In truth, he was fighting back laughs—barely, though!

Gaston, however, was not in the mood for a laugh. He entered without invitation, spreading muck all over the floorboards.

Instead of making himself comfortable on a chair, however, he shut the door with one ginormous arm and crowded on Edward.

‘Do you know what just happened to me?’

‘Um, you… fell?’ Edward guessed cheekily, not wanting to be intimidated by this oaf.

The truth was, however, that Gaston had backed him against the wall where no one could see them through a window.

‘I’ve just been to Marie’s house. To ask for her hand. And do you know what happened?’

‘She said yes?’ Edward guess again, really playing with fire now.

‘SHE SAID NO!’ Gaston growled in Edward’s face, his breath making Edward’s eyes water.

But he stood his ground.

‘And you decided to drown your sorrows in a pigsty?’

‘Do you know what she said to me, Drummond?!’ Gaston went on, furious. ‘That she wouldn’t say yes to me unless she knew Edward would never ask her! You. YOU.’

‘Gaston, I’m speechless. I really don’t know what to say.’

‘You, Edward!’ Gaston leaned ever closer to Edward, so close he could see the veins on his temple ready to pop. ‘You and your pretty boy act, your, your, your… perfect hair, and your perfect little walk, and your… books!’

‘Right, um, not to seem like a bad host and not that I don’t enjoy you getting all this pungent pig perfume on me, monsieur,’ Edward said, ducking under Gaston’s arm in a swift escape, ‘But I can hardly do anything about Marie’s taste in men. You can tell her I have no intention of asking her to marry me, that’s for sure. Alas, I hardly think it would change her mind about you. Perhaps a good bath and less talk of her washing your feet every night might convince her.’

Gaston blew up out of nowhere.

Before Edward could reach for his book, he felt his arm twisted and wished more than ever that Prince Charming would jump out of the pages and come to life to save him.

How silly he was to think that! No one was coming to save him.

Gaston did not hit him, however.

He held Edward and leaned closer than ever before to him, so close that Edward didn’t need to overthink to put two and two together and realise what really bothered Gaston about Edward.

He didn’t think he would dare, he hoped he wouldn’t— terrifyingly, it seemed to cross the scoundrel’s mind as well, Edward couldn’t think why else he would glance at his lips like that…

‘No one says no to Gaston,’ the beastly man growled to Edward at last.

The next second, as if overcome with sudden shame, he let go of Edward, and stormed out of the house.

Edward waited for a good few minutes to make sure Gaston was really gone. He was. He could see that idiotic little Lefou jumping around him as they crossed the bridge and disappeared into town.

A sigh of relief left Edward’s lips first… and then an indignant huff!

Affronted by the unwelcome advances he had to endure, he quickly washed the mud off himself—Gaston’s clawmarks!—grabbed a bag of grains and seeds and went outside.

‘Can you imagine?!’ he chatted to the chickens while throwing the food at their feet, as if they could understand him. ‘Gaston? I pity the fool that will ever marry him!’ a rooster either choked momentarily or reacted to what he said. ‘I know, I know, many in the town find him a catch. Not Marie, apparently she has more brains than that! Good on her! But she won’t marry me either... You won’t tell on me, would you?’

The chickens were too busy gobbling up the grains to pay him any attention.

Edward threw them the rest of the food, jumped over the fence, and skipped down the meadow overlooking the valley.

It was quite beautiful to behold, the scenery here. The trees, the rows and rows of grapevine in the distance, the stream, the clear sky, and the endless green grass. How he wished he could be happy here! But he wanted more than that! Certainly more than fearing he would run out of excuses why he didn’t want the most beautiful girl in town! And certainly more than being intimidated by a brainless scoundrel such as Gaston, who bedded half the women in town and for what? To lie to himself? Edward wondered.

Why should he have any sympathy for him anyway? Edward may have been a well-mannered boy but he quite reached his limits. What a cad, he must remember to look out for him in the future.

Oh, it wasn’t that he didn’t want anyone! But him and Gaston? No way, not him, no sir!

Why couldn’t a knight in shining armour come to him? He could almost see him: tall, but not too tall, his hair blonde like the sun, his eyes blue like the sky, and his smile brighter than his armour hiding a fine body—he would be an excellent rider, of course. And musical. And artistic. And a fabulous conversationalist! Someone who might understand…

Oh, Edward, you stupid, stupid boy—he berated himself. Who would ever find anyone like that? Such a man did not exist, not the world over, let alone anywhere near this poor, provincial town!

He really hoped his father would find success with his inventions, now more than ever! If only they could get some support, some funding to develop more machines and sell them! They could move away, somewhere more interesting and fine and grand, where there are adventures to be had, and balls and dances and---

Rapid horse hooves sounded and soon enough Edward was frightened ever more by the sight that greeted him.

‘Philippe?’ he called, running uphill. ‘What are you doing here? Where’s Papa?’ he asked. Indeed, alarmingly, the horse came back with the loaded cart but as far as Edward could tell his father was nowhere to be seen! And the horse, he was so distressed! ‘Where is he, Philippe? What happened? Oh, we have to find him, you have to take me to him!

Edward unhitched the wagon from Philippe, got on his back, and off they galloped back into the woods.


	3. The Boy We Were Promised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward rides to the castle to save his father. When the captor shows up, he takes his father's place. His distress at the loss of his father and freedom is somewhat eased by unexpected friends.
> 
> Meanwhile, a rejected Gaston licks his wounds and devises a cunning plan to get his way...

Edward rode bareback on poor Philippe into the woods, down the misty path, through the unnatural fog, deeper than he had ever been in here before.

The further they travelled, the stronger his sense that something was not right. The temperature seemed to have dropped significantly every mile, the moonlight seemed to dim, and the savage howls from the thick of the forest made the hair on Edward’s neck stand.

He fought his fear with all the strength he could muster. He had to find his father.

Eventually, they arrived at the tall, wrought iron gates.

‘What is this place?’ Edward uttered in awe as he caught sight of the enormous castle beyond.

He had never heard any of the townsfolk even mention that there was such a magnificent building in the distance of just a few hours ride. But then he expected the townsfolk didn’t care about these finer things at all.

Or was it perhaps abandoned? Upon a second glance, it seemed as though the castle was once splendid but had long forgotten its better days. It certainly didn’t look very welcoming. Nor its overgrown grounds or the surrounding land. Between the unkempt woods and the rusting gates in the dead of night, Edward’s heart was pacing rapidly as if afraid it would not live to beat for much longer.

Nevertheless, he got off the horse.

‘Philippe, please, steady,’ he calmed the jumpy creature and entered the gates with him. He took but a few steps before he stumbled upon a hat—a very familiar hat indeed! His father’s cap!

Edward, though terrified of the unknown, took a leaf out of his own books and braced himself—this was nothing but a new adventure for a courageous knight, was it not? He could be that knight… he could be the saviour…

And so, he tightened his grip on Philippe’s harness, and started walking up the path towards the castle.

Lumiere and Cogsworth were still bickering when Edward entered the vast hall. Having learnt from the evening’s previous events, they fell silent at once at the sight of another strange intruder.

‘Hello? Is anyone there? Hello? Papa? Papa, are you here?’ Edward called, following the luxurious but faded carpet that led to a staircase vaster than the dam downstream in the valley.

Still no response. Odd… an enormous palace such as this and no inhabitants? He had found his father’s hat, surely _he_ was somewhere there.

He thought he caught sight of candlelight. There was his proof. There must have been someone in there who could help!

Whether he found friend or foe, determined not to leave without his father, Edward braved the stairs.

‘Did you see that?’ Lumiere interrupted Cogsworth’s yet more mumbling and muttering about order and the mistress.

‘Wh-wait--! Lumiere!’

But by the time Cogsworth caught up with the candle, he was already hopping up and up the stairs, following the newcomer eagerly.

‘It’s a boy!’ Lumiere whispered to his friend excitedly.

‘I know it’s a boy,’ Cogsworth grumbled back at him—didn’t Lumiere know his built was less suited to exercise now that he was a clock?! His cogs needed oiling badly!

‘Don’t you see?’ Lumiere turned to him, flames flailing everywhere animatedly. ‘He’s the one! The boy we have been waiting for! He has come to break the spell!’

And off Lumiere ran, hopping quickly after the handsome, young man before they lost him! Cogsworth could barely keep up, the glass on his clock face misting up from his wheezing!

However, though he would never admit it, his friend was right: the visitor seemed like a fine fellow indeed—he certainly had the looks, and he would look splendid with the mistress once the spell was broken. _If_ the spell could be broken at all, which seemed more and more unlikely as the years passed.

‘Papa? Papa?’ the boy called as he turned a corner into a narrow hallway, unawares of his followers.

Aha, so the boy was the old man’s son…

‘Hello? Is someone here?’ Edward asked in the darkness and thought he saw movement up ahead. A door opened from the corridor. Was it the draft or did he manage to find someone after all? Taking a chance, he entered through the little door, putting aside his fears as best as he could. ‘Wait! I’m looking for my father!’

He came across steep, narrow stairs that led up a tower. Lights _definitely_ flickered above and he ran swiftly in search of… of…

‘That’s funny…’ he said to himself, disappointed to find still no one at the top of the spiral staircase. ‘I’m sure there was someone…’

Pained noises came from the dimness—Edward realised this tower held cells! He grabbed the single torch from its iron case on the cold stone wall and explored more.

‘I-I-Is there anyone here?’ he asked, wishing his voice wouldn’t shake and give away his fear.

‘Edward?’ Maurice whimpered.

Edward rushed to the cell that held his father with no more hesitation. Just as he had feared: his father was held in a most unseemly fashion, a hostage, captured, and worse he was hurt, weak, and scared!

‘Oh, Papa!’ he said to his elderly father through the tiny barred hole in the cell door.

‘How did you find me?’

‘Oh, your hands are like ice! We have to get you out of here.’

‘Edward, I want you to leave this place.’

‘Who’s done this to you?’

‘No time to explain. You must go… now!’

Edward wouldn’t listen, his father had eccentric ideas but he was not going to listen to his fancies this time, he had to help him.

‘I won’t leave you!’ he stated firmly and meant to examine the cell door, whether he could break it open, when…

…a huge paw grabbed his shoulder and whipped him around so forcefully that he dropped the torch into a puddle! Everything went dark except for a single beam of moonlight. Alas, his attacker was hiding in the dark for now.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked in a strange, growling, animalistic voice.

‘Who’s there? Who are you?’ Edward asked blindly, ignoring his father’s pleas for him to run.

‘I am Princess Florence, the mistress of this castle.’

‘I’ve come for my father. Please let him out!’ Edward pleaded in the dark. ‘Can’t you see he’s sick?’

‘Then he shouldn’t have trespassed here,’ replied the mistress.

‘But he could die!’ Edward tried to reason with the elusive Lady Florence. He was nearly begging but she still wouldn’t do anything to help. ‘Please, I’ll do anything!’

‘There’s nothing you can do,’ she said cruelly. ‘He is my prisoner.’

‘Oh, there must be some way I can…’ Edward thought, scared to tears that he would lose his father, and in this horrible way! Then, an idea struck him: ‘Wait! Take me instead!’

It was madness, but he mustered more courage than he had fear in his heart and stood up straight to face whatever came next.

‘ _You_?’ the mistress growled in surprise. ‘You would _take his place_?’

‘Edward! No! You don’t know what you’re doing!’ his father protested from the cell immediately.

‘If I did,’ Edward pressed on, hoping to impress the mistress, ‘would you let him go?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘But you must promise to stay here forever.’

Edward considered this, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, thinking, thinking…

‘Come into the light,’ he asked, wanting to see his captor before he agreed to anything.

Lady Florence slowly stepped into the beam of moonlight and Edward found himself backing away until his back hit the cell door from the monstrosity he beheld!

She was taller than any boar, bull or bear! Her fang-like teeth were sharper and bigger than those of the vilest wild animal, and she was covered in hair like a lion’s mane! She tried to cover herself with feminine clothes resembling the fashion of the day but the finest silk and brocade wouldn’t be able to hide her hideous frame, no corset would fit her form.

Only her soft grey eyes showed that she was human inside.

It was a horrid thought to willingly offer himself as a hostage of this Beast. But it was more horrid a choice to let his father languish here when he had the chance to save him! And what would await him in the town anyway? The same provincial life, every single day, escaping into his books lest a girl got any ideas of marrying him. And Gaston! Oh, Lady Florence was a monstrous sight but no one could be as beastly as Gaston!

Ignoring his father’s pleas to the contrary, Edward took a deep breath, closed his eyes in resignation, and said:

‘You have my word.’

‘Done!’ the Beast replied, fished Maurice out of the cell without hesitation, and threw Edward in there in his place!

‘No, Edward! Listen to me, I’m old, I’ve lived my life—’ Maurice protested but before Edward could say so much as farewell, Lady Florence had already dragged his father downstairs.

‘Wait!’

‘Edward!’

‘Wait, no--!’ Edward cried but the Beast was truly gone.

He ran to the glassless window overlooking the entrance, watching as the Beast threw his father into a horseless cart, which drove right off on its own accord as it seemed? He had seen enough of his father’s machines not to dwell too much on that. Especially as it went swiftly across the bridge over the thousand foot deep abyss, down the stone path, and into the woods where Edward could see his father no more.

Edward’s knees buckled and all his previous bravery flew right out the window. He was sobbing within seconds, bawling his eyes out, even as the horrible Beast reappeared in the cell door.

‘You didn’t even let me say goodbye!’ he cried at her—perhaps it was not in his favour to make demands and shout at his captor but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t like he could make it all any worse, surely! ‘I’ll never see him again!’ he sobbed on the cold, stone floor. ‘…couldn’t even say goodbye…’

‘I’ll show you to your room.’

Edward thought he heard her wrong.

‘My room? But I thought…’

‘You want to stay in the tower?’

‘…No.’

‘Then follow me.’

Lady Florence swept out of the cell and Edward had no choice but to follow her if he didn’t want to spend the night on hay.

The castle was enormous.

Edward would have preferred to see it in the daytime—it would have been much less spooky. There were menacing, horned statues and beaky gargoyles everywhere. Long shadows were dancing on every hellish figure and mouldy painting. Edward was half scared they would come alive and bite his flesh—he shuddered from the very idea and pulled his cloak tighter around himself for comfort.

As scared as he was of the Beast, he knew he had better stay close. If its mistress was such a cruel, ugly creature, who knew what further terrors this place could hold?

‘Say something to him…’ a small voice sounded but Edward wasn’t paying much attention. He was still so distraught by his fate and worried about his father that he couldn’t stop crying.

‘I hope you like it here,’ Lady Florence said to him awkwardly. ‘The castle is your home now so you can go anywhere you like. Except the west wing.’

‘What’s in the west wing?’ Edward’s curiosity got the better of him.

‘IT’S FORBIDDEN!’ the Beast rounded on him with sudden anger.

Edward understood he ought not to ask any more questions.

At last, they arrived at what was to be Edward’s room.

‘Now, if there’s anything you need, my servants will attend you,’ Lady Florence said and seemed to be listening to her candelabra. ‘You… you will join me for dinner,’ she added. ‘That’s not a request!’

Before Edward could protest, Lady Florence turned with a whip of her long mane of hair and she was gone.

Edward was left in his room, quite alone…

He took it all in warily. It didn’t seem to be anything like a cell or a dungeon. On the contrary, it was spacious and comfortable, just like he always imagined for the princesses in his beloved fairy tales. Those damsels locked in the uppermost room of the highest tower in a magical palace…

But, oh, no dragon-slaying knight was coming to save him!—he thought wretchedly and threw himself on the bed, sobbing his heart out.

He was captive! He would never see his father again! Who would take care of him when he was too lost in his inventions and no one else in the house?

What’s more, the boy always suspected he would end up alone for who could ever love someone like him? Where would he find a man like him in the first place, a man who could love him at all? But at least he had still had some hope out there! Now he knew for sure he was going to spend his life alone, alone for all time.

Oh, Edward would never forgive the beastly Princess Florence for this! Never!

***

‘Who does he think he is?’

‘Don’t you mean she?’

‘She?’

‘Marie?’

‘Oh, right!’ Gaston corrected himself, chugging the rest of his beer from an enormous tankard. ‘Who does she think she is? Preferring Drummond over me?! No one says no to Gaston!’

‘Darn right!’ Lefou nodded obediently.

‘Dismissed. Rejected. Publicly humiliated. Why, it’s more than I can bear!’

‘More beer?’ Lefou offered, balancing a heavy keg on his flat head.

‘What for?’ Gaston said uncharacteristically. ‘Nothing helps. I’m disgraced.’

‘Who, you? Never!’ Lefou insisted, dropping the keg and spilling beer everywhere. ‘Gaston, you’ve got to pull yourself together. No one is as strong, no man so admired as you! You’re everyone’s favourite guy!’

‘That’s true…’

‘No one’s slick as Gaston, as quick, as manly, as…’

‘As a specimen, yes, I am intimidating,’ Gaston admitted vainly, flexing and admiring himself in the pool of liquor.

When he tore his eyes away from his own reflection, he spotted the barman’s three daughters ogling him and he cheered right up!

Who needed to bother with that bookish fool Edward, or any girl who preferred him over burly, brawny, hairy, strapping Gaston? The barman’s daughters certainly had their minds in the right place. They weren’t taken in by Edward’s shiny curls or his sunkissed skin or his firm---

As soon as the barman ducked under the bar for more tankards, Gaston ushered the ladies, all three of them, in the direction of their room upstairs…

He would show that Edward what a real man was like!

They were already halfway up the rickety wooden steps when a commotion broke out downstairs as someone was screaming blue murder.

That someone was unmistakably that old Maurice, the inventor.

Edward’s father.

Abandoning the girls, Gaston hastily ran back down to the pub only to see the strangest scene:

‘Help! Someone help me!’ Maurice cried to anyone who would listen. ‘Please, Please, I need your help! She’s got him! She’s got him locked in a dungeon!’

‘Who?’ Lefou asked the old man sceptically.

‘Edward! We must go. Not a minute to lose!’

‘Woah, slow down, Maurice,’ Gaston stepped in. ‘Who’s got Edward locked in a dungeon?’

‘A beast! A horrible, monstrous beast!’

A stunned silence followed Maurice’s words.

And then…

…the whole tavern burst into laughter.

Drunkards started mocking him left and right, asking about the beast. Maurice didn’t understand what they were on about! He told them all they needed to know about the beast in the castle, why weren’t they helping?! His Edward was captured and afraid—that is if the beast hadn’t hurt him yet! He couldn’t even bear to venture into such horrible thoughts yet. Losing his wife was the hardest thing he had ever had to go through. He wouldn’t be able to bear losing Edward, too!

Why was everyone laughing at him?! Every minute counted!

‘Alright, old man,’ Gaston said at last, his authoritative voice getting attention. ‘We’ll help you out.’

Maurice couldn’t believe his luck! If Gaston believed him, everyone would!

However, the next second, he found himself falling face first into a big pile of fresh snow outside the tavern.

Why wouldn’t anyone help?

And how strange, the curse of the castle seemed to have brought winter earlier! Didn’t anyone think that unusual? Didn’t that prove his words? Oh, this town… Edward was right! They didn’t fit in. Everyone was daft and dim here even when the obvious stared them in the face!

Maurice had no choice but to walk back home through the snow and try to figure out how to help his beloved only son on his own.

Meanwhile, in the tavern, they were all having a great laugh.

‘Crazy old Maurice,’ they said.

But Gaston quite forgot about the girls upstairs in light of this new development.

‘Crazy old Maurice, hm?’ he asked himself. ‘ _Crazy_ old Maurice…’

It took him a good few minutes but he got there eventually:

‘Lefou, I’m afraid I’ve been thinking,’ he announced.

‘A dangerous pastime.’

‘I know. But that whacky old coot is Edward’s father, and his sanity’s only so-so… Listen, I promised myself I’d be married to Marie. And right now, I’m evolving a plan!’

Lefou was all hairy ears.

‘If I…’

‘Yes?’

‘No, would she…’

‘What?’

‘Listen, Lefou—’ Gaston said, dragging his cunning little friend away from the crowd of drunkards. This was meant for no one’s ears but their own. He couldn’t even truly reveal to Lefou what his real intentions were aside from marrying Marie. To do with Edward. He had to be careful with his words. ‘If Marie won’t say yes to me because of Edward, we must get Edward to tell her he will never propose to her, right?’

‘It would appear to be the case, Gaston.’

‘Well… we must find him and make him tell Marie.’

‘He’s an odd boy, though. Too clever for his own good. For anyone’s! How can you be sure he wouldn’t cross you and propose to her anyway?’

‘That’s just the thing, Lefou. I will make sure he does exactly what I want him to do.’

‘How?’

Gaston scratched his impressive jaw. He could barely contain his glee. He had the most cunning plan devised in his head. And if all went right, he would hit two birds with one stone.

‘Get the doctor. I need to speak to him. Privately.’

***

Back in the castle, Edward was still crying on his bed by dinnertime.

The softest clinking and knocking sounded from the finely painted and gilded door, so gentle it could not possibly be the Beast calling on him.

‘Who is it?’ he asked wetly.

‘Mrs Potts, dear,’ a motherly voice said. The door opened to let in the tiniest visitors yet: a round, porcelain pot and a chipped little cup, a mug of sugar, milk, and silver tongs to complete the set. There was no maid, however. The china seemed to have walked in of their own accord… ‘I thought you might like a spot of tea.’

Edward jumped and quite forgot his sobs. The teapot itself seemed to speak!

‘But you… but… I…’ he stuttered observing the tea set more closely with awe but frightened of them as well! But oh? He backed into the wardrobe…

…who told him to be careful!

He apologised to the furniture and scurried back onto the bed, which, thankfully, remained inanimate.

‘This is impossible,’ he said, more to himself than to the… objects.

‘I know it is, but here we are!’ said the wardrobe amusedly.

‘I told you he was pretty, mama, didn’t I?’ asked the teacup in its high-pitched voice, bouncing on the carpet below.

‘Alright now, Chip,’ said the teapot, pouring hot tea into the cup—a bit of sugar and a dash of milk following. 'Slowly now. Don’t spill!’

The little cup had difficulty getting on the bed without spillage so Edward picked it up gently. Not sure whether it was polite to drink or to turn it down, he took a tentative sip and thanked the cup.

‘Want to see me do a trick?’ the cup asked and screwed up its little face in concentration to produce bubbles on its surface!

How its mama scolded it! But Edward found it quite amusing and laughed through the last of his tears.

‘That was a very brave thing you did, my dear,’ the pot said kindly.

‘We all think so,’ the wardrobe nodded, creaking from the movement she wasn’t used to.

‘But I’ve lost my father, my dreams, everything!’

‘Cheer up, child,’ the pot said. ‘It’ll turn out all right in the end. You’ll see. Oops! Look at me, jabbering on, when there’s a supper to get on the table! Chip!’

And out they hopped, the pot, the cup, and all the rest of the set.

The wardrobe approached Edward.

‘Well now, what shall we dress you in for dinner? Let’s see what I’ve got in my drawers,’ the wardrobe opened itself and a flock of moths fluttered out. ‘Oh! How embarrassing… Here we are.’

Edward was thrown a fashionable shirt, trousers, a pink waistcoat and matching frock coat, all from the latest fashion he could never afford.

‘Ah, there! You’ll look ravishing in this one!’ the wardrobe rejoiced, picking him a cravat lastly.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Edward said to the overzealous furniture, ‘But I’m not going to dinner.’

The atmosphere changed in the room at once—clearly the inhabitants of this court were all terrified of their mistress.

‘Oh, but you must!’

It was at that moment that a square little clock hopped in, its pendulum falling into place once he had cleared its throat—if he had one.

‘Ahem, ahem, ahem. Diner… is served,’ he announced pompously.

Meanwhile, in the dining room, Princess Florence was pacing up and down on her giant pawlike legs that would only fit into her cherished silk shoes in her dreams.

‘What’s taking so long?’ she asked Lumiere and Mrs Potts, who were waiting with her.

‘Try to be patient, m’lady,’ the teapot comforted her. ‘The boy has lost his father and his freedom all in one day.’

‘Uh, mistress, have you thought that perhaps this boy could be the one to break the spell?’ Lumiere suggested tentatively.

‘Of course I have!’ Lady Florence flared up. ‘I’m not a fool!’

‘Good. You fall in love with him, he falls in love with you, and—Poof!—the spell is broken! We’ll be human again by midnight!’

‘Oh, it’s not so easy, Lumiere,’ Mrs Potts thought aloud wisely. ‘These things take time.’

‘But the rose has already begun to wilt!’

‘It’s no use,’ Lady Florence huffed. ‘He’s so handsome, and I’m so… well, look at me!’

How she wished she hadn’t been so horrible to that old witch that fateful day nearly ten years ago now! She would still be the most beautiful lady in the land perhaps even married by now! As it was, she looked more like a wild boar than a woman.

‘You must help him see past all that,’ Mrs Potts advised.

‘I don’t know how.’

It was true – before the curse descended upon the court, the princess was a selfish, nasty person whose beauty was her only redeeming feature. And redeeming it was alright! It was crudely taken away from her and now she had nothing to work for her advantage. Getting anyone to love her was an unthinkable task!

‘Well, you can start by making yourself more presentable. Remember what your governess taught you! Straighten up, try to act like a lady.’

‘Ah yes, when he comes in, give him a dashing, ladylike smile,’ Lumiere added.

Lady Florence could not very well do that! Where she had beautiful, pearly white teeth were a row of awful fangs. Instead of flirting, she could only use them to scare Edward all the more!

‘Don’t frighten the poor boy.’

‘Impress her with your rapier wit.’

‘But be gentle.’

‘Shower him with compliments.’

‘But be sincere.’

‘And above all.’

‘You must control your temper!’

Easier said than done…

They were all distracted by the door of the dining room opening. But it wasn’t Edward who entered. It was only Cogsworth… who came to break the news that Edward was not, in fact, coming down to dinner.

‘WHAT!!!’ Lady Florence bellowed, forgetting her manners at once.

The growling cry reached all the way up to Edward’s room.

Soon enough, Lumiere hurried in, flames flickering rapidly from his own fright.

‘Monsieur,’ the candle turned to Edward with pleading eyes. ‘You must come down to dinner. Please, the mistress is—’

‘Oh, well, if the mistress is!’ Edward mouthed back. He had already done his bit. He was staying in this castle, isn’t that what the deal was? He felt under no obligation to go and dine with the princess, too!

‘Please!’ Lumiere pleaded and nodded to the wardrobe, which was much larger than him.

‘You must get ready for the mistress, else you’ll get us all into trouble!’

‘I’ll get you into trouble? You are already in quite a state! I will not do anything unless someone tells me what’s going on!’

‘We used to be courtiers and staff, guards and servants, until a witch in disguise enchanted us all, the end, le fin!’ Lumiere quickly explained, ‘Now go, please get dressed and do something with your hair, monsieur I beg you!’

‘But I still don’t understand how—’

The wardrobe acted more decisively now and Edward was promptly pushed into a chair by the vanity which came alive with dancing folk: perfume bottles, powder brushes, silk ribbons in every colour imaginable.

But one thing caught his eye above all: a hairbrush.

It was the most beautiful object Edward had met in the castle yet. It was pure silver with elegant golden engravings that curled this way and that such as the uniform of a fashionable cavalryman. It was also beaded on the handle, which gave it a fine, luxurious finish. Tasteful, not tacky. Its brush strands were of the finest, softest kind, like silk to the touch—a bit sticking out at the top as if in an elegant coif to compliment its friendly face. Edward thought its eyes were of pure aquamarine at first glance, they were so vividly and sparklingly blue.

And apparently, it was not only pretty but a flatterer as well:

‘I had no idea the villagers were so handsome!’ said the beaded little hairbrush.

‘Well, I am not really from the village, originally,’ Edward informed it begrudgingly. He still wasn’t pleased to be kept in such ignorance. Nevertheless, he took the hairbrush in his hand gently so that he was at eye-level.

‘So you are all _people_?’ he asked it.

‘We are. Trapped in objects until the spell is broken. As incredible as that sounds! Where are you from, monsieur, if not from the village?’

‘Far, far away. Too far. I don’t fit in.’

‘I know what that’s like.’

‘Right… is it the tickling brushes or your modest size that makes it hard to mingle with company?’

The hairbrush laughed sweetly. ‘Modest size, the cheek! …Funny.’

‘That’s what the townsfolk call me… Alas, not exactly in the same sense.’

‘What’s your name, funny boy?’

‘Edward Beaumont Drummond. And yours?’

‘Lord Alfred Paget, at your service.’

‘But if you are a Lord, _I_ should be at _your_ service, not the other way round!’ Edward reasoned.

‘Perhaps it’s time I learned to be generous and servient. That will be my redeeming good deed!’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ the wardrobe contradicted him. ‘Lord Alfred was always a kind man, even before the enchantment.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Alfred interrupted the always flattering wardrobe. ‘After all, we are all cursed with this life for a reason.’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Edward said sadly. ‘I have already done my good deed to free my father. There’s little I can do now.’

‘On the contrary!’ Lumiere piped up, climbing on the desk with ease. ‘You could be the key to breaking the spell!’

‘Me? How---’

‘Shush, you,’ the wardrobe interrupted when Lumiere meant to explain. ‘The boy has had enough shock for one night.’

‘I agree,’ Alfred spoke again. ‘And I agree with Mrs Potts! That was a very brave thing you did there, Edward.’

‘Anyone would have done it for their father,’ Edward said humbly.

‘No, not everyone. The world is full of terribly selfish people.’

‘Such as your mistress, the princess!’ Edward lamented. ‘With whom I am supposed to be dining tonight? I don’t think so.’

‘She can be a bit rough around the edges,’ Alfred euphemised, ‘But give her a chance. You’re just hungry. You’ll see everything in a new light once you have tried our kitchen’s finest seven-course meal! I hear from Mr Francatelli that there’s spice biscuits, mince pies, and almond pastry for dessert!’

‘Yum!’ said a fat little bottle of perfume. ‘I can almost smell it!’

‘…Or would you really rather supper potatoes and bread back in the village that regards you as nothing but a strange boy?’ Alfred questioned Edward cleverly.

‘At least I would be with my father. Look at that,’ Edward said with some bittersweet humour, ‘I spend every day wishing myself away from that town and now I would give anything to go back! I suppose I am a strange boy after all.’

‘And now you’re talking to a hairbrush!’ Alfred joked, cracking up their new guest. He hopped out of Edward’s hand, up his arm, his shoulder, and started brushing his chestnut hair with joy. ‘Well, look at that! Such beautiful curls, I know just what to do with them! Come on, we’ll help you pull yourself together in no time,’ he said and within a minute too short his work was done.

Edward looked at himself in the mirror. He had never managed to tame his curls so expertly before.

‘Look,’ Alfred was perched on his shoulder and so he spoke right in his ear, pleased with himself and Edward’s appearance. ‘You look like a real prince! A prince for a princess!’

Edward’s smile faded.

‘What if I don’t want a princess—’

Horrible banging interrupted him!

Most of the objects—or courtiers, if the story was to be believed—jumped out of harm’s way even though the door remained shut.

Evidently, the Beast found out Edward didn’t intend to go down to dinner and she was going to force him to! Well, Edward was not convinced by this behaviour! On the contrary.

He let “Lady” Florence bang some more on the door without gracing her with any answer.

‘I TOLD YOU TO COME DOWN TO DINNER!’ the mistress bellowed.

‘I find I am not hungry!’ Edward replied with considerable cheek.

‘You’ll come out or I’ll… I’ll BREAK DOWN THE DOOR!’

‘Are all women so damn emotional?’ Edward asked Alfred cynically.

‘Only ones turned into beasts against their will,’ the hairbrush replied to him conspiratorially.

‘Mistress, I could be wrong, but that may not be the best way to win the lad’s affections…’ Lumiere stage-whispered through the keyhole.

Edward rolled his eyes at first. But then, a truly worrying thought struck him: what if they were all serious? What if he signed up for not only a lifetime of captivity? Was he truly expected to make friends with this tempestuous monster of a princess, or even… be affectionate with her?

What had he got himself into?

‘Please!’ Cogsworth could be heard through the door. ‘Attempt to be a lady.’

‘But he’s being so difficult!’ Lady Florence argued.

‘Gently, gently…’ Mrs Potts pleaded.

The mistress cleared her growly throat and tried again, softer this time.

‘Will you come down to dinner?’

‘No!’ Edward replied adamantly.

‘It would give me great pleasure if you would join me for dinner… please.’

‘No, thank you!’

‘You can’t stay in there forever!’ Lady Florence argued, temper rising once again. What a surprise!

‘Yes, I can!’ Edward insisted.

‘FINE!’ came the Beast’s shout, predictably. ‘Then go ahead and STARVE!’ She turned to her courtier-objects next: ‘If he doesn’t eat with me, then he doesn’t eat at all!’

Edward could hear her leave in a huff of fury at last and a distant door was slammed loudly.

Good. Let her go, he thought. He would rather starve than do as she pleases. He would gladly starve to death to shorten his sentence. Better than being anyone’s toy until he actually turned into one as well! He would not dress, he would not go down to dinner, he would not eat!

And he would certainly not spare any thoughts of love while he was in this castle!


	4. The Princess and the Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Florence is having difficulty controlling her temper and appreciating inner beauty.
> 
> The court is at a loss--will Edward be their saviour after all? They are surely doing the best they can to make their guest feel at home.
> 
> After Edward's curiosity gets himself into trouble, however, he flees and danger is lurking in his way!

Lumiere stayed in Edward’s room while Cogsworth and Mrs Potts followed their raging mistress into the west wing.

‘I ask nicely but he refuses!’ she fumed even as she barged into her den, for lack of a better word for she had so torn her room apart over the years that it hardly resembled anything like a civilised princess’s bedchamber. There were only a few items intact from scratches and breakage: a small magic mirror, the enchanted rose under a glass case, and her vanity with her cherished beauty products complete with a triptych mirror: oval in the middle with pretty wings on each side.

Though she despised her own reflection and destroyed every mirror she passed, she could not bring herself to break this one as it contained her friend Miss Wilhelmina Coke.

‘What, what does he want me to do—beg?!’

Lady Florence picked up the smaller magic mirror that was woefully unbreakable for its enchantment. She didn’t mind so much as this one did not show its user’s face, which in her case was unbearable to behold, but whatever one wished to see.

‘Show me the boy!’ she demanded.

At once, she was met with the sight of Edward sitting on his bed and reluctant to listen to anyone from the wardrobe to the hairbrush perched on his knee when they urged him to try to get to know her more.

“I don’t want to have anything to do with her!” Edward would say, loud and clear.

Lady Florence set down the stupid mirror, too depressed to rage on.

‘Cheer up, Florence,’ said a sweet and kind little voice. Wilhelmina, the vanity. ‘Every relationship has a rocky patch.’

‘Oh, Mina… I’m just fooling myself. He’ll never see me as anything but a monster,’ Lady Florence lamented even as yet another petal fell from the rose, its light dead by the time it hit the marble table top.

‘But you are not a monster, Florence.’

The mistress would have laughed but an animalistic little croak came out of her throat instead, reminding her once again of the undeniable fact that she was a hideous beast indeed.

‘I mean it,’ Wilhelmina insisted. ‘You believe only in what you see but the enchantress was right—shh, calm down, my lady! I did not say she did the right thing! Just that she was right to say that real beauty lies within. Perhaps its time you really tried to understand what that means. Please. Just try.’

‘Listen to her, Lady Florence,’ added a beautiful little Bambi-eyed powder brush.

‘Harriet, not you too. I know you mean well, girls, but look at me! Even if I were the kindest, funniest, cleverest, and most charming lady in the world, what man could ever begin to think of me as a wife?! I mean… I have a tail!’ Lady Florence sobbed, breaking down on the vanity, her jewellery box jumping out of the way of big fat tears sliding down her hairy face.

Her friends were at a loss as to how to comfort her. There was no denying it: the once famously beautiful Princess Florence could scare away a bear just by smiling at it.

Therefore, there was nothing to it but to cry and mourn the loss of her youth and their future.

Because time stood still in the grim castle where it was always winter, always dreary. Cogsworth was the only one that still kept track. According to him, ten years had passed since the curse changed everything.

She tried to destroy the rose at first but nothing worked. She called every self-proclaimed wizard, witch, shaman and charlatan in the country to come to her aid but no one could lift the ghastly spell. When she turned twenty-one, the rose indeed began to wilt. In the past few months it had even begun to shed its petals, one by one.

They were running out of time. And still Florence could not find anyone who would love her.

She became a recluse, hiding her monstrous self from the world that would surely ridicule her. Her own parents, the King and the Queen were repulsed by their only daughter and gave up on her completely now that she would never marry.

Her terrible state affected her the wrong way: instead of enlightening her to inner beauty, the selfish, vain, and spoiled princess became embittered, savage, and even more short-tempered than she used to be.

She sensed that her court, who suffered with her—nay, _because_ of her!—had the key to a certain knowledge she did not. Though they didn’t hold any more balls and dances, they managed to make their fun anyway. They remained kind to her always. They cheered her on and cheered her up—or attempted to, even and especially when she didn’t deserve it.

Now that Edward showed up, she relived it all, her heart breaking all over again. To be sure, she had learnt very well that she didn’t appreciate her life and her friends nearly enough while she could.

It was all too late now. She felt Wilhelmina’s clumsy but loving touch as she folded her side mirror gently on the princess’s shoulder in comfort.

The gesture made Florence feel her guilt yet more acutely.

And so there she remained, defeated before the mirror, and sobbed and sobbed.

***

‘Oh, no!’

‘Oh, yes…’

‘Oh, no!’ said the feather duster to Lumiere who was in a very kissy mood… Clearly he found his guard duty outside Edward’s room more than enjoyable. ‘I’ve been burnt by you before!’

‘Ahem, ahem,’ Harriet cleared her throat and the odd couple fled apart quickly. ‘May I enter, please?’

‘Duchess…’

‘I just want to talk to Lord Alfred.’

‘Is that code for visiting Prince Ernst, by any chance?’

‘That’s rich coming from you, dear Lumiere.’

The Duchess of Sutherland had a point. The candle had no choice but to let her in.

‘Harriet!’ the razorblade gasped in surprise and stopped fussing with his moustache in the mirror at once.

‘Shh, Ernst!’ Harriet scolded him quietly. ‘I’m not supposed to be here.’

‘But it is a pleasure to see you—Oh!’ Ernst had been trying to cut such a manly pose for his beloved powder brush Duchess that he slipped on the sharp edge of his elegant silver blade and nearly hurt her!

‘Steady, your grace. You have already got a lock of my hair, remember? Alas, we’d better stay away from each other if we are not to harm each other...’

‘For now.’

Harriet blushed. ‘Where’s Alfred?’

Ernst moved in a way that his blade reflected the moonlight right into the hairbrush’s eyes.

Because Alfred had been following Edward around all evening as he paced around the room aimlessly, trying to reason with him or at least cheer him up but Edward was still incredibly upset at his fate.

Giving up on getting anywhere with the sightly new visitor, Alfred left the boy to wallow in his misery by the window, and joined his courtier friends on the vanity top.

Apparently, the mistress was reaching new lows.

‘I’m telling you, Alfred, she’s at the end of her wits. And another petal has fallen!’ Harriet whispered.

‘Another petal?!’

‘Shhh!!!’

Harried wanted to keep it only among the three of them: herself, Lord Alfred, and Prince Ernst. If the others knew, they would all be alarmed and chaos would reign in the house for weeks as it did every time. Given the new developments, that was the last thing they needed!

‘What do you think?’ she asked the men, glancing at Edward at the window. ‘He _is_ as handsome as she said…’

‘So handsome!’ Lord Alfred sighed.

‘…but is he the one?’

‘We’ll show her a painting of the mistress from before and he’ll cheer up in no time,’ Ernst suggested.

But Lord Alfred wasn’t so convinced. ‘I have a feeling Edward may need something different than that. Oh! Quick!’

They all fell on the table lifelessly and pretended to sleep as Edward stopped staring gloomily out the window and turned back to the room.

Wisely so… Edward was indeed checking that he wasn’t being supervised for a second. He tiptoed to the door, listening… he heard soft snores. Perfect.

‘What are you doing? Alfred?’ Harried whispered, but too late: the beaded little hairbrush hopped swiftly down the table and up into a pocket of Edward’s trousers before the boy could escape without him.

Careful not to make a sound, Edward stole out of the room and walked down the carpeted corridor. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He only knew that sleep would not come to him.

Not keen on running into the mistress, he figured he should go downstairs. A real princess would never set foot in the servants’ quarters after all.

Well, _he_ wasn’t a prince. Certainly not her prince! So he had no qualms about popping into the kitchen.

‘I work and I slave all day, and for what?!’ the stove moaned, steaming from fury! ‘A culinary masterpiece gone to waste!’

‘Oh, stop your grousing, Mr Francatelli. It’s been a long night for all of us,’ Mrs Potts said.

No matter, a fair feather duster busied herself by dusting the crumbs off the stove and he cheered right up…

‘Well, if you ask me,’ Cogsworth said without being asked, ‘He was just being stubborn. After all, the mistress did say “please.”’

‘But if the mistress doesn’t learn to control that temper, she’ll never break the—’

‘SPLENDID to see you out and about, monsieur!’ Cogsworth interrupted the teapot when he realised Edward was in the room. He introduced himself as head of the household.

‘Zut alors!’ Lumiere cried, running into the kitchen as well, far too late! ‘He has emerged—oh.’

‘Forgive my friend, monsieur. This is Lumiere…’

‘We’ve met,’ Edward said awkwardly.

‘If there’s anything that we can do to make your stay more comfortable…’

‘I am a little hungry,’ Edward admitted. The kitchen was full of food that looked and smelled delicious indeed.

‘You are?’ Mrs Potts rejoiced, her motherly instincts kicking in with full force. ‘Hear that? He’s hungry. Stoke the fire, break out the silver, wake the china!’

And so they did, despite Cogsworth’s fretting about the mistress’s instructions.

‘Oh, pish tosh,’ said the teapot, ‘I’m not going to let the poor child go hungry.’

‘Cogsworth, I am surprised at you. He’s not our prisoner. He’s our guest! We must make him feel welcome here!’

Edward was ushered upstairs into a vast dining hall with the longest oak table that could hold a party of a hundred! He was sat at one end and soon enough he found himself utterly in awe as plate after plate flew up in the air in a splendid choreography before him, napkins twirled around in a Waltz on the table, and even the cutlery and the dusters were keen to dance a can-can for him.

Course after course after course was laid out for him, far more than he would ever be able to eat. He would have been full if he had only tasted each dish: soup du jour, hot hors d’oeuvres, beef ragout, cheese soufflé, pie and pudding en flambé…

‘Please, there’s no need,’ Edward tried to protest, happy with a piece of baguette and cheese. But there was already quite a banquet thrown for him alone!

‘Nonsense, monsieur,’ Lumiere laughed even as he was conducting this proud display. ‘Ten years we’ve been rusting, needing so much more than dusting—we need the exercise, a chance to use our skills!’

‘Well, if you really don’t mind…’

‘Mind? We couldn’t be happier! Be our guest! Be our guest! Oysters and champagne?’ the candle offered on a silver platter, winking at him.

‘Uhhhh…’

He opted for some stew and dessert, a most satisfying meal.

‘Thank you, that was wonderful! Bravo!’ he applauded them all.

‘Oh, my goodness!’ Cogsworth shrieked the next second. ‘Look at the time! Now it’s off to bed, off to bed!’

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly go to bed now! It’s my first time in an enchanted castle.’

‘Enchanted? Who said anything about the castle being enchanted? It was you, Lumiere, wasn’t it---’

‘I, um, figured it out for myself,’ Edward reasoned but now that he thought about it again he remembered what Lumiere said about a witch and then Lord Alfred confirmed these were not merely enchanted objects but real souls of the household trapped in their various forms because… well, he didn’t know why exactly.

No time like the present to find out.

‘I’d like to look around, if that’s alright,’ he announced and stood from the table.

‘Oh, would you like a tour?’ Lumiere offered.

‘Wait a second, wait a second,’ Cogsworth fussed again. ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea… We can’t let him go poking around in _certain places_ if you know what I mean…’

Edward refrained from rolling his eyes and tried a different tactic: ‘Perhaps _you_ could take me! I’m sure _you_ know everything there is to know about the castle!’ he flattered the grumpy little clock.

It worked!

He was soon taken down long, fire-lit hallways where the flying buttresses, the gothic gargoyles, and baroque paintings provided more than enough excuse for pompous old Cogsworth to talk and talk and talk… and an opportunity for Edward to familiarise himself with the castle.

Full body armours watched them on their way, their rusty metal squeaking as if from the draft—or were they moving of their own accord, too?

WOOF! Sounded a footstool, running up to Edward, wagging its tussles at both ends. He crouched down to scratch it, which it seemed to enjoy.

‘Who’s this good boy?’

‘That’s just dash! Don’t let him leave thread-balls on the carpet…’

The enchanted puppy seemed to want to get at Edward’s pocket at all cost for some reason so he picked it up so that they could continue their tour.

When they reached a staircase, curiosity sparked up in his heart.

‘What’s up there?’ he asked, wandering up the steps.

‘Where—up there? Nothing! Absolutely nothing of interest at all in the west wing. Dusty. Dull. Very boring.’

‘Oh… so _that’s_ the west wing… I wonder what she’s hiding up there.’

‘Hiding? The mistress is hiding nothing!’

‘Then it wouldn’t be forbidden.’

‘Perhaps monsieur would like to see something else? We have exquisite tapestries dating aaaaaall the way back to—’

‘Maybe later,’ Edward stepped over the little clock and candle who could hardly stop him.

‘The gardens then? Or the library, perhaps?’

Now that made him stop. ‘You have a _library_?’

‘Oh yes! Indeed!’ Cogsworth nodded fervently before the boy took another step further.

‘With books!’ Lumiere added, hopping into the opposite direction already!

‘Gads of books!’ Cogsworth followed.

‘Mountains of books!’

‘Forests of books!’

‘Cascades---’

‘Swamps of books!’

‘—more than you’ll ever be able to read in a lifetime! Books on every subject ever studied, by every author who ever set pen to paper…’

Edward took advantage of his guide’s pride and, though with a heavy heart, he figured he could always go to the library later. He fell back and snuck upstairs swiftly regardless.

Dash seemed to adore him but the closer he ventured into the west wing, the more the pup fidgeted. It wasn’t a pretty sight, that was true: the walls were scratched, claw marks had ruined every picture, and any mirror one would pass was broken into shards. Eventually, he reached a pair of large doors with gilded handles carved into a menacing form like roaring lions. Dash couldn’t take it anymore and jumped right out of his arms and ran away.

Edward was not thwarted. If they weren’t going to tell him the truth about this castle, he was going to have to find it out for himself. He steeled himself and stepped through the doors.

What he found was the most unkempt part of the castle yet. The furniture in this room was in such a state one could barely recognise what they used to be anymore. Broken shards of vases, torn duvets, and toppled statues littered the floor. Claw marks had long destroyed paintings, the piano looked as if someone had taken a bite out of it, and the enormous four-poster bed was in shambles.

Edward spotted a pair of familiar soft grey eyes and approached a painting. Piecing together the torn canvas, he could make out the portrait of an extremely beautiful, young, blonde woman.

Lady Florence, surely…

What was that? He turned towards a ray of light. It couldn’t have been daybreak yet but he had to squint from pale pink light coming from a table. He walked towards it, careful not to step on anything sharp, and examined the source of the light.

It was a single flower, kept under glass.

It wasn’t just any flower. It was a rose so bright and luminous as one would never find in nature. Edward felt an urge to touch it, to hold it…

…before he could, he heard a sob, a sniff, and a terrible shadow pushed him away from the rose.

‘WHY DID YOU COME HERE?’ Lady Florence, the beast, roared.

‘I’m sorry,’ Edward said immediately, backing away on shards of glass and porcelain.

Lady Florence took care to protect the rose before rounding on the intruder once more, towering over him.

‘I WARNED YOU NEVER TO COME HERE!’

‘I didn’t mean any harm!’

‘Do you realise what you could have DONE?!’ the mistress screamed and threw a stool at the wall in her fury, breaking it into smithereens.

‘Please, stop!’ Edward pleaded, scared for his life as she prowled closer to him. ‘No!’

‘Get out! GET OUT!!!’

Edward didn’t need to be told that again! He ran out of the room as fast as he could and didn’t stop.

He really, really did not stop.

Not at the bottom of the stairs, not when he was safe in the carpeted hall, not even he reached the entrance of the castle itself.

He grabbed his cloak from a hook, nearly toppling over a candelabra, and pulled the heavy oak door open with his bare hands.

‘Wait—where are you going?’ Lumiere asked, roused from his sleep.

‘Promise or no promise, I can’t stay here another minute!’ Edward said curtly and left.

It was then that a rather alarmed Alfred peeked out of Edward’s trousers pocket in search of someone.

‘Duke!’ he called to just the man he needed, standing guard right outside the entrance.

The pair of Wellingtons saluted him and ran inside with haste to mobilise his army and inform the mistress.

Alfred tucked himself back deep into the pocket for fear of falling out. Oh, it was chilly outdoors!

But Edward didn’t care, it seemed, and wasted no time finding his horse, hopping right on it, and striding away from the castle into the dangerous, dark woods in the dead of night!

Alfred was more shaken up in the pocket than on the week-long carriage voyages from Paris to Calais! And just as he feared, Edward’s recklessness had its consequences: he held onto the fabric of Edward’s trousers for dear life as the horse stood on its hind legs frightened by the wilderness.

This was no place for a village horse, Lord Alfred was all too aware. He was an equerry—well he had been when he had all his limbs—and would often ride out here before the curse fell upon the court. But never at night! He thought Edward was smart!

Oh no! Making matters worse, he and his horse now ran into what sounded like a whole pack of wolves!

Edward urged the horse to run yet faster, not looking where he trudged through the snow until—BRRR! Icy water soaked them through! The wolves had chased them into a frozen lake that couldn’t support their weight!

With difficulty, they got themselves out of it but the wolves caught up all too soon.

THUMP! Edward must have been thrown off his horse because now Alfred wasn’t only developing icicles on his silver surface but he had a fair amount of snow stuck between his brush strands, too!

What was Edward doing? Run, you fool! Oh, Alfred realised the boy was trying to save his horse! They would all meet their ends right there! See? A wolf’s greedy paw barely missed the pocket in which Alfred was lying! Where was Wellington?!

RAWR!!!

Could this be…? Yes, it could! Lord Alfred knew Lady Florence’s roar from a mile away. And she was much closer! Peeking over the hem of the pocket, he saw that the Princess was using her enormous, beastly figure to thrash and beat the wolf pack apart, throwing one against a tree trunk, biting at another’s fur mercilessly, fighting them off when they launched their counterattack.

Though they were hungry for victory, after a particularly cruel hit at their leader, the wolves fled and left them alone at last.

Lady Florence had won… but at a huge cost. Exhausted from the fight, she collapsed into the snow.

Edward jumped on his feet, freed Philippe from the branch around which his harnesses had been tangled, and meant to get into the saddle… but he hesitated.

Lord Alfred’s heart skipped a beat. Could this be the moment they were all waiting for? Lady Florence had just saved Edward’s life. Surely, the boy would show her sympathy now, even gratitude, and with luck… love.

Oh, if that was the case, Alfred could only hope that she would be able to see how lucky she would be to have Edward’s love! As shown by his actions tonight, he was of the purest soul and the kindest heart.

Sure enough, the boy walked over to the princess, wrapped her beast body into his own cloak, and lifted her on the saddle.

And instead of moving on towards the village, he turned his horse back to the castle.


	5. Beauty or Beast?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the narrow escape, Edward and Florence's relationship might become more tender after all. So all the household folk hope! Edward, however, is struggling with his long-held secret because of which he knows he will never be able to love the princess with true love.
> 
> Meanwhile, Gaston begins to spin his nasty web...

Edward heaved the heavy princess over his shoulder and though his knees were buckling for her weight he somehow took her inside the castle, into the nearest cosy room where they could get warm by the fire—supplied by Lumiere, who livened up the fireplace in no time.

Mrs Potts brought hot water and a clean cloth at his request.

Lady Florence was slowly coming to. At the sight of the wounds on her arm, she began to lick them until Edward told her not to do that. Instead, he wringed the cloth and started to dab her nasty scratch marks.

Lady Florence objected with a loud lioness roar!

‘That hurts!’

‘If you’d hold still, it wouldn’t hurt as much,’ Edward snapped back at her.

‘Well if you hadn’t run away, this wouldn’t have happened!

‘Well if you hadn’t frightened me, I wouldn’t have run away!’

‘Well you shouldn’t have been in the west wing!’

‘Well you should learn to control your temper!’

Lady Florence opened her mouth but had no comeback that would beat that.

Edward rinsed the cloth in the hot water again.

‘Careful, this might sting a bit,’ he warned and cleaned her wound as best as he could. After all, his father would often get an injury or two from his machines so he knew how to tend to a cut alright.

She threw a fit at first, hissing and squirming, but his gentle hands soothed her injury and she was quite tamed eventually.

‘By the way, thank you for saving my life,’ Edward had to say, though not meeting her eyes.

For the first time, Lady Florence spoke quite tenderly, too. ‘You’re welcome.’

He knew that the courtiers were watching, whispering, conspiring about something being there that _wasn’t_ there, not on his part.

As soon as he had made sure Lady Florence’s wounds were tended to properly, he got up and excused himself to go to bed.

‘Is it true?’ the wardrobe nagged him as soon as he stepped into his bedroom. ‘You ran away? And she saved you?’

And about a dozen more questions were asked by many an object when all he wanted to do was get some peace!

‘Lord Alfred!’ Harriet called—surely her friend would tell them everything.

The beaded little hairbrush popped out of Edward’s trousers, right into Edward’s palm. He was tousled and dishevelled but definitely having had quite an adventure!

Edward’s eyes went wide.

‘Crikey, that was you all this time?’ he asked Alfred. ‘I thought it was just my tinderbox! I never go anywhere without it…’

‘How well-equipped you are…’ Alfred commented, hardly containing his giddiness.

Edward tried to ignore the wave of giggles that swept around their audience—the bellows by the fireplace even wolf-whistled.

‘Alright, I am tired.’

The wardrobe gasped in panic. ‘Do you mean you’ll try to leave again?’

‘No. I just meant I am tired, as in I wouldn’t mind going to bed. However---’

‘Ah, yes, make yourself at home—’

‘That’s precisely what I must first talk about to you all. If I am going to stay here, we will need to lay down some ground rules. First of all, Lord Alfred… No more traveling in my pocket.’ Alfred opened his mouth to argue. ‘If you must, please go for my breast pocket, right here over my heart so I… can keep an eye on you.’ _And avoid further embarrassment_ but Edward didn’t wish to think about that too much.

Even Alfred’s silver face turned rosy. He heaved a big, theatrical sigh, promised to be good, and returned to his usual place on the vanity table looking like he would sleep very well indeed.

‘Secondly,’ Edward continued, ‘I shall have to change into night clothes and change into day clothes in the morning, and so it shall be every day and every night. _No peeking_ while I dress or undress. Not to mention when I bathe!’

‘We promise,’ sounded the chorus of objects.

‘And thirdly… thank you. I hope you won’t find me a bothersome guest and though I must warn you I am not the prince you were promised, as a show of my gratitude, I will treat you as if you were lords and ladies, butlers, cooks, and grooms, housekeepers, housemaids, scullery maids, and so on and so forth. It’s the least I can do, but alas also the most.’

‘But-‘

‘No buts. Please. I know what you want me to be. You want me to grow to love Lady Florence. I cannot do that. I believe you are who you say you are, and in turn I ask you to believe me as well when I say I am not the one who can break the spell. I… I’m sorry.’

Edward sensed he had lost his audience to disappointment but he could hardly help that. Nor did he have the energy to, not tonight. He patted the barking footstool on either its ear or its rear, went behind the screen, checked that nothing— _no one_ was looking while he changed, and went to bed at last…

…hoping he didn’t talk in his sleep, because, as every night, he knew that dreams of prince charming would sing him to sleep.

***

Meanwhile in the village, a conspiracy was in the making.

Gaston and Lefou were meeting with old and green-skinned Doctor D’Arque at the tavern.

‘I don’t usually leave the asylum in the middle of the night but they said you’d make it worth my while.’

Gaston pulled out a sack of gold and tossed it to the doctor.

‘Ah… I’m listening.’

‘It’s like this,’ Gaston got to the point. ‘I’ve got my heart set on marrying Marie but she needs a little persuasion.’

‘Turned him down flat!’ Lefou sniggered.

Gaston slammed his tankard right in his gleeful little face and continued.

‘She won’t say yes to me while Edward Beaumont Drummond doesn’t tell her he will not propose to her. Trouble is, I had a… bit of a misunderstanding with the boy the other day. Therefore I can’t be sure he wouldn’t cross me if I asked him to tell her as much. Worse, turn her against me, invent some nasty rumour about me. Now, everyone knows Edward’s father is a lunatic. He was in here tonight raving about a beast in a castle…’

‘Maurice is harmless,’ the doctor shrugged.

‘The point is, Edward would do anything to keep him from being locked up.’

Whatever Gaston asked him to do in return… and keep his mouth shut about it, too.

‘So you want me to throw his father in the asylum unless he agrees to convince Marie to say yes to you? Ooh, that is despicable—I love it!’

They shook on the deal.

Significantly fewer coins in his pocket, Gaston went to Edward’s house next, Lefou tagging along as always. However, they found it empty: no Maurice, no Edward in sight. They had a horse, which was also nowhere to be found.

‘Oh, well, I guess it’s not going to work after all,’ Lefou concluded stupidly.

‘They have to come back sometime,’ Gaston fumed, obsession keeping him going. ‘And when they do, we’ll be ready for them. Lefou, don’t move from that spot until Edward and his father come home.’

Muttering his protests, Lefou stayed to keep watch after all, and Gaston left, certain his plan would work.

***

Edward couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so well.

But what a strange dream he had had… his father had been taken by a beast… then he stepped in his place… there was a castle… full of talking objects… a teapot… a candle… and a hairbrush called Lord Alfred… he tried to escape but there were wolves…

‘Rise and shine, child!’ someone said. Edward opened his eyes and saw the talking teapot and the chipped cup from his dreams!

In fact, he was still in his dream! In the very same room in the high tower!

‘No, it wasn’t just a dream,’ the teapot told him when he jumped.

‘How did you know I was thinking that?’ he asked, brushing his curls out of his eyes only for them to fall right back.

Chip laughed at him and offered tea. He drank it up, which seemed to rouse him. The curtains opened themselves and he had to smile: the snow and hail stopped. In fact, the sun was shining ever so brightly in the sky.

‘Come on, boy, let’s get you cleaned up. Breakfast’s waiting for you.’

‘Breakfast and the Beast?’ Edward asked, though not unkindly this time.

He was ushered through a door behind the screen where a bathtub filled with hot water and bubbles was waiting for him.

Thankfully, neither the tub, nor the towels were enchanted people. He had a bit of a misunderstanding with a rogue toothbrush, though.

After this, he dressed in clothes laid out for him by the wardrobe: subdued greens that looked very handsome on him indeed. Besides, his own clothes had been torn by the wolves the night before and had to be mended. He had to admit, her taste was exquisite.

‘Did you make these clothes yourself?’ he asked, trying them on behind the screen, ignoring its giggles.

‘Oh, no, I only altered them to fit you, dear,’ the wardrobe replied. ‘They are all Lord Alfred’s garments.’

‘Excuse me?’ Edward asked, reappearing from the screen’s cover fully clothed. He turned to the hairbrush on his vanity. ‘Alfred, is that true?’

‘Well, it’s not like I could wear them like this, is it?’ the hairbrush replied, not at all sorry to see Edward. He did look well in green. But then he would look good in anything.

‘Alfred, is this your room?’

‘It is. Was.’

‘So…’ Edward started to really examine the room’s every corner now that the morning light filled it. He did not have to look far: right below a gilded sword on display, there were a dozen framed miniatures and watercolour portraits on the mantelpiece.

He recognised him at once—he felt as if he had known that face, that man. As if he had seen him in a dream…

He took the painting off the shelf.

‘Is this you?’

Alfred turned away.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,’ Edward was quick to say.

‘You didn’t,’ Alfred said kindly but even he had a hard time accepting that he was a silly little accessory in this palace. Nothing like his past self pictured in the miniature: young, handsome, decorations on his uniform shining as brightly as his golden hair and blue eyes.

Edward took another look at the gorgeous painting before placing it back where he found it.

‘Who are the others?’ he asked.

Alfred turned back to him. To see better, he hopped over shelves until he reached Edward’s shoulder.

‘That’s my father, Lord Anglesey, with my mother.’

‘Are they…?’

‘They’re alive. And they are here. My father is a comb but he’s missing a fork so he finds it difficult to move around but my mother is there with him. She’s Lady Florence’s hairbrush now. I visit them occasionally.’

‘And they?’

‘My brothers and sisters. Some of them were here at the time of the curse—Septimus is always loitering around near the duster maids—but I’ve a dozen more siblings back in London.’

‘You’re not from around here either?’

‘No but I’ve been living here for years and years. I’ve known Lady Florence since we were children.’

‘Is she your friend?’

‘Something like that. We are the three musketeers, rather: me, Florence, and Miss Wilhelmina Coke.’

‘Is she—’

‘Florence’s vanity mirror.’

‘Oh.’

‘Which reminds me: you don’t want your breakfast to get cold, do you? Sit.’

Edward did as told and sat in front of his own mirror.

Musketeers indeed: his razor introduced himself as Prince Ernst and did an unfortunate fencing movement that trimmed a bit of the shaving brush, who was not at all pleased!

‘Now, monsieur, what can I do for you?’ Ernst asked, flying dangerously close to Edward’s throat. ‘A goatee? Sideburns? Moustache?’

‘Just a quick clean-up, please…’

‘Ah, a man of simplicity. Are you sure you don’t want to try—’ Alfred cleared his throat so Ernst got to work.

Edward was covered with a towel and soaped up in no time and let the blade do his thing, and _that_ it did very rapidly and with a lot of flair! He was gripping the armrests of his chair, praying he wouldn’t meet his maker this way.

However, in the end, he looked in the mirror and saw not a single cut on his freshly shaven face.

‘See, you’re ready for breakfast!’

‘Just one moment,’ Alfred said and made quick work of fixing Edward’s hair. ‘ _Now_ you’re ready.’

Breakfast was a bit of an awkward affair.

For one, there was still that fragile air between Edward and Lady Florence from the night before.

Secondly… Lady Florence tended to forgo the use of cutlery and lapped up her porridge right from the plate.

She only noticed herself when she saw Edward had not touched his breakfast at all.

But what was she to do? The teeny forks and spoons in this castle were not suited for her grotesque paws.

She gave it a go but eventually, Edward put down his own cutlery and started to drink his porridge straight from the bowl as a compromise.

When in Rome…

‘What would you like to do today?’ Lady Florence asked him.

‘Well, it would be a shame to waste this splendid good weather, don’t you think? I think I should like to go riding. _If I may_.’

‘Edward, you don’t have to be afraid of me… of course you may go riding. Lumiere, please see to it that the monsieur’s horse is saddled up and ready.’

The candle scurried away, jolly as ever to perform this task!

Philippe had been well taken care of after the night’s horrible ordeals. Edward took him for an easy ride around the gardens and the grounds.

Florence didn’t join him, claiming she still had to recover. Her arm was still bandaged after all. Edward suspected she didn’t have a horse big enough to ride but didn’t voice this out of courteousness.

The castle did seem brighter and more welcoming in the daytime even with all the snow! Edward enjoyed the exercise so very much! Though he found the enchanted courtiers amusing company, it felt good not to have to worry about sitting on someone every step of the way as he did indoors. Out here, it was only him and Philippe.

Oh, and Dash, of course, the footstool who raced them over and through piles of snow for hours, barking happily.

Perhaps it wasn’t going to be so bad here?

Just as Edward thought that, he realised he was being watched by Lady Florence and her most loyal servants, Lumiere and Cogsworth, from a balcony up above. The look in her soft grey eyes reminded him of the talk of the castle.

They expected him to fall in love with the princess and thus break the spell.

Everything they did for him they did to make him more appealing to her. They bathed and groomed him and dressed him in fashionable clothes, all in the hopes that he would look his best _for her._

Whenever he considered that, his lungs seemed to fill with lead.

Just the same as when his father would encourage him to talk to Marie.

The way the courtiers looked at him—it was the same way he was stared at by the villagers. Young women and their hopeful mothers and fathers. Just the thought of that made him wish he lost all his own charms and looked more like the Beast. It would solve his problem in a way, wouldn’t it?

But he wasn’t. He was a true beauty inside and out, or so everyone seemed to think. Certainly Lady Florence did. Sure enough, not long after he got back from riding, he was informed that the mistress was looking for him and that he was to go immediately to the south wing.

Lady Florence was already waiting for him by a gargoyle.

‘Edward, I want to show you something. But first, you have to close your eyes,’ she said. Edward was hesitant. 'Please. It's a surprise.’

He humoured her and closed his eyes. He felt her big paws take his hands and lead him through a door.

‘Can I open them?’

‘No, no, not yet. Wait here.’

Lady Florence must have opened some curtains, filling the room with light.

‘Now can I open them?’

‘Alright. Now,’ she said and Edward, though sceptical beforehand, was speechless.

He was standing in the vastest hall he had come across in the castle yet, one filled from its marble floor to its frescoed ceiling with shelves and shelves of books!

‘I can’t believe it,’ he uttered in awe, dizzy from craning his neck to take it all in. ‘I’ve never seen so many books in all my life!’

‘You… you like it?’

‘It’s wonderful.’

‘Then it’s yours.’

Edward’s heart skipped a beat. He tore his eyes away from the books and looked at Lady Florence seriously.

‘I can’t…’

‘I want you to.’

Edward’s lungs filled with lead again, and his throat went dry. ‘Thank you. But I couldn’t.’

‘I insist—’

‘No, please.’

‘Don’t you like to read?’

‘I love to read! And I will borrow some books from your truly breathtaking library,’ he flattered her gallantly but keeping his distance. ‘But I couldn’t take it as mine. I could never repay you.’

‘Your company is enough of a—’

‘You’re very kind, your grace. But I mean it.’

‘Well, alright…’ she agreed, wondering what she had done wrong this time.

Edward stepped to her, taking her hand in his in a friendly, and _only_ friendly gesture, not wanting to be ungrateful or anger her.

‘But thank you. Truly. Thank you so much!’

Lady Florence barely met his eyes.

‘Perhaps… you would like to tell me about your favourite books?’ he tried again.

She perked up eventually and they spent the afternoon in the library until it was time to change for dinner.

‘Well you seem like you enjoyed yourself,’ Lord Alfred remarked, glad to see some colour in Edward’s cheeks when he was getting him ready. ‘You were out all day!’

‘I was just riding and reading, as always at home.’

‘That’s not what Harriet tells me… the Duchess of Sutherland, Lady Florence’s powder brush,’ Alfred explained.

Edward’s smile disappeared and that same lead-like dread filled him as before. It was nothing to his dread when he saw what was laid out for him for dinner.

‘Will I really have to wear that?!’

‘What’s wrong with it?’ Alfred asked indignantly. ‘Although I suppose not everyone can pull off gold.’

After much nagging, Edward found himself dressed in a golden frock that must have cost a fortune but made him feel like he looked rather foolish. As if he was nothing but an accessory himself.

‘Edward?’ Lord Alfred spoke to him again. Strange, all the others were fainting from how dashing he looked and how handsome he was but Alfred’s gentle tone seemed to speak to a much deeper part of him, even when he had only uttered his name. ‘You know, you don’t have to—’

Before he could say anything more, however, Cogsworth hopped importantly into the room all too soon.

‘Ahem, ahem… your lady awaits.’

Edward met Lady Florence on the staircase. She had certainly made an extra effort to look her best—as best as she could, given the circumstances.

Dash was around his ankles and nudged him until he remembered to be a gentleman and hold out his arm. Lady Florence was very glad he did and they went into the dining room together.

He heard them all—Lumiere, Cogsworth, Mrs Potts, the forks, the knives, everyone! All whispering and sniggering about the same thing: how splendid a couple they made. How wonderful it would be for them to fall in love, as soon as possible. How he was surely coming around and what they would cook for the wedding… The Beauty and the Beast!

‘Don’t you have an appetite, Edward?’ Lady Florence asked from the far end of the long table. ‘Would you prefer something else? I can tell Mr Francatelli to whip up anything you like in no time!’

‘No, thank you, it’s delicious, I just… I have had enough now, thank you.’

Edward stood from the table, meaning to excuse himself, but she was quicker:

‘Oh, but you can’t leave yet! We haven’t danced!’

‘Danced?’

‘A little bird told me—well, actually, it was Lumiere—that you have always wanted to go to a dance! Well, then. Follow me, Edward!’

He had no choice but to go after her until they were in a brightly lit ballroom—gilded stucco and heavenly frescoes overlooking the pair of them.

Music began—instruments were playing themselves and his task was obvious.

Reluctantly, he took his position, watching as the princess’s paws gripped the fine golden thread of the frock coat that once belonged to Lord Alfred.

Lord Alfred—he imagined what it would be like if the Marquis’ son was the beast. Would he recoil from him as he did from her? Would he entertain the idea of falling in love with him despite his appearance? Knowing that the beastly surface held the man of his dreams?

And then he remembered Lady Florence’s portrait. He imagined with all his might throughout their Waltz that he was dancing with the beautiful princess in the painting.

Why— _why_ did he know so strongly in his heart that it would not ease his reluctance?

‘Now, now,’ Lumiere whispered to the band he was conducting pompously. ‘Finish up, she’s going to tell him.’

Edward looked up at Lady Florence, his eyes glinting with panic. She must have mistaken that for something else because the Waltz was indeed fading and she asked him to join her on the balcony.

‘I… I would rather not.’

‘Excuse me?’ Lady Florence asked, controlling her temper only in the last second.

The music stopped, flooding the vast ballroom in deafening silence.

‘I am rather exhausted from the ride…’

‘What’s wrong, Edward? Is it my dress? Didn’t you like the library? The dinner?’

‘I did, and thank you so very much. But…’

‘It’s because I am an ugly beast, is it not?’

‘No, your grace…’

‘You are disgusted by me.’

‘I am not, no--’

‘You are, you are disgusted and repulsed and I am wasting my time… the humiliation…’

‘Lady Florence!’ Edward raised his voice so as to prevent her sobbing or shouting or throwing the band out the window in a rage.

She was listening.

‘You are a beautiful princess, I have seen your true picture. And just in a day you have become such a generous person within. But I cannot be the man you are looking for. Not because I am repulsed by your present appearance.’

‘What do you mean?’

Edward searched for the right words to explain to her but he feared the consequences of his confession so much. How could he tell her why he wouldn’t take her as a wife, cursed or not?! What if the entire castle rose up against him and drove him out of here or worse?!

Alas, he hesitated for much too long.

The mistress grew furious and devastated. ‘Away with you…’

‘Wait, let me explain…’

‘AWAY WITH YOU!’ she bellowed, hurt to the core. ‘Go, go, if you cannot stand the ugly, horrible, ghastly sight of me!’

And she ran out to the balcony in tears.

‘Now, look what you’ve done!’ Cogsworth rounded on him.

So did Lumiere, and the band, and the staff watching from the doorway—he saw the disappointment in their faces. They were accusing him of betraying their mistress, of letting them all down and why couldn’t he just give her a chance?

He felt hot tears welling in his eyes and ran out of the ballroom. He took the stairs two at a time until he was back in his bedroom.

‘I will never love her!’ he bellowed first thing.

And threw off his stifling golden frock coat and suffocating cravat for good measure.

‘Uh-oh,’ Harriet said. She had been chatting to Ernst and Alfred but all eyes in the room were on Edward now.

‘Come back, Edward!’ Chip hopped in, his mother chasing after him.

‘Chip! Come back at once! Oh, you poor child,’ Mrs Potts turned to Edward. ‘Perhaps just one more dance. Beauty comes from within—’

‘Enough!’ he cried, not at all about to kick the motherly teapot but he couldn’t stand this anymore. ‘Please! Leave me alone!’

It wasn’t merely the past two days in this castle that frustrated him so, it wasn’t even only since he had come to the village and his Papa had begun to mention Marie’s name every day.

This was all his life.

‘What happened?’ Lord Alfred asked. Mrs Potts filled them in quickly.

‘Has he seen Lady Florence’s portrait yet?’ Ernst the razor asked. ‘Perhaps if he saw her full-body painting… Ouch!’ Harriet poked him in the side, tutting.

‘God…’ Edward sighed as if praying for the Heavens for more patience.

He wasn’t angry at the household folk. They couldn’t have known just how hopeless what they were asking was.

He slumped down on the bed in sorrow.

He would have loved to have some privacy. He felt he owed them an explanation, though.

‘I know you are only trying to help,’ he spoke. ‘But even if the princess was the kindest, the richest, most splendid, and most beautiful woman in the world, she would still not have my heart.’

A stunned silence followed his words.

‘Are you in love with someone else already?’ Chip asked naively.

Edward smiled sadly at the little teacup.

‘No. I just… I just cannot love her.’

‘What does he mean by it, mama?’

Mrs Potts thought it wiser to shoo the little teacup out of the room for Edward’s good. Best give him some space.

‘I cannot love her,’ Edward repeated, broken. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. ‘And that’s the end of it,’ Edward added quickly before more questions arose. He could see some of his roommates would have liked to inquire more but he kicked off his shoes and escaped scrutiny by burying himself under the covers.

All the others took the hint and went back to their shelves and cupboards to rest for the night.

All except one.

Edward soon felt soothing brushstrokes in his hair.

As upset he was, he couldn’t help but be thankful for Lord Alfred for bringing him this small comfort.

‘Better?’ Alfred whispered into his ear kindly after a while.

Edward turned to the splendid little hairbrush perched on his shoulder.

‘My mother used to calm me so when I fell and hit my knee. How did you know?’

‘Just intuition,’ Alfred replied and watched Edward in the moonlight for a moment. ‘What you said earlier…’

Edward turned to go back to sleep but Alfred hopped on the pillow to face him anyway.

‘But you see if you are not the boy destined to break the curse…’ Alfred insisted.

‘No, I am not. I am most certainly not the beauty you are all looking for. I can’t save you. I wish I could but I can’t! Don’t you see?’ Edward was close to tears again. ‘I am no beauty. I am a beast!’

And he turned away from Alfred so he wouldn’t see him sobbing his heart out.

How could this have happened? All his life he wanted something more, more than the small provincial village. His father was lost in his inventions, ever more so since his mother died! His mother. She would have understood. But his father might not. And certainly all the young girls in the village who kept batting their eyes as him every time he made his way to the bookshop and back! And Gaston! What a cad! Was he, Edward, also like that vile man? He shuddered to think that’s what he would become! And now, cursing himself for what he had wished for, he was well and truly trapped in a strange palace with a jealous, short-tempered, hairy monster who would never let him see his beloved father again. Not unless he fell in love with her and married her! Oh, if he could never marry any of the village girls, how could he even begin to think of forcing himself to like – let alone love! – Lady Florence?!

Worst of all, though the beastly princess’s selfishness caused it all, the others – Mrs Potts, Chip, Dash, and of course Alfred – they were all such nice people trapped in their ways. He could live without having helped spoiled little Lady Florence. But he was failing _them_! If he could care for women that way, he even imagined he would throw away his pride and try to sympathise with Lady Florence as best as he could. If he could! If he could…

He hadn’t realised when Alfred started to brush his hair again. But he did so patiently until Edward’s tears subsided.

‘Why are you so kind to me?’ Edward asked him later. ‘You know I cannot help you.’

‘I know,’ Alfred replied calmly.

‘You’ll be trapped in a hairbrush for eternity because of me!’

‘Bathing in your heavenly chestnut curls forever and ever? I can think of a worse fate!’

Edward sat up and stared at Alfred in surprise. The charming little hairbrush was perched atop his knee. And if it hadn’t been so dark – or if Alfred hadn’t been a beaded little accessory – he might have been blushing in the wake of this confession.

‘You see, I had never wished I could be human again more than…’ Alfred explained, ‘…than when I first saw you.’

Edward tried to understand, hoping he wasn’t just having a very elaborate fever dream after one of his father’s inventions hit him in the head. But he thought he did understand.

‘So you know why I cannot love the princess?’

‘I do know.’

‘The others will despise me so.’

‘I don’t think so. And I shall talk to them if you like. Besides, don’t you see this is a most pleasant development?’

‘But it is most certainly not! I am the key to breaking the curse but I can’t love her!’

‘No, monsieur. You cannot love her and therefore you are not the key to breaking the curse! This means that we shall have to point her in the right direction.’

‘How?’

‘I have an idea. Something I should have done years and years ago. You just go to bed now. You need rest,’ Alfred said, patted Edward’s kneecap lightly as a show of affection and slid down the duvet.

‘Wait! Alfred,’ Edward called after him before he hopped off the bed. He held out his palm. ‘Would you stay with me? Just for tonight.’

‘Oh, I’m not sure I should…’

‘It’s your room. Your bed,’ Edward reasoned cleverly.

Alfred couldn’t argue with that. He made himself comfortable on the pillow, his blanket Edward’s warm hand, and drifted off to heavenly sleep by his side.


	6. You Believe We Are Friends?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florence feels betrayed but her friends are working on helping her heal from deep-seated issues. They also begin to nudge her and her true love into the right direction--if only they both got over themselves and learned to be proud of their love, the spell would be broken. Edward has to learn that lesson, too, and help her, just as he's coming to terms with his own feelings about Alfred... however, when he discovers his father's in danger, he has to leave the castle to save him.
> 
> Will he return? And will pride win over shame and save the day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: there's discussion of attempted sexual assault here, just a heads up. It's all for the feminist revision, it'll be so much more satisfying in the end, promise. <3

‘HE’S SLEEPING WITH HIS HAIRBRUSH?!’ Florence raged in her room.

She had only meant to check that Edward was still in his room and wasn’t wandering where he ought not to. However, what she saw in her magic mirror relit a monstrous fire of jealousy in her. Edward was sleeping soundly, with the beaded hairbrush that was unmistakably Lord Alfred on the pillow, his cover Edward’s warm, gentle hand.

‘How DARE he turn MY OWN court against ME?!’ she shouted, casting the enchanted mirror aside. ‘How dare my own friends sympathise with HIM instead of ME?!’

‘My dear Florence, no one is against you,’ Mina spoke timidly from the vanity. ‘Lord Alfred has been your friend since we were as young as three! You cannot imagine he would abandon you. Nor would I! None of us would!’

‘Oh, he is kinder and friendlier and how pretty he is! No fangs, no claws! Of course you all like him more than me!’

‘Florence!’ Mina pleaded. ‘Florence, come. Come, look at me.’

The beast groaned painfully.

‘Come. Please.’

‘Don’t, Wilhelmina…’

‘Oh, now I know you really are cross! What happened to “Mina?”’

Florence softened and stepped over to the mirror on her vanity that held her best friend trapped. When she sat and looked at her she could only see her own reflection, though.

‘I wish I could see you,’ Florence admitted sadly.

‘It’s enough that I can see you, my dearest Florence.’

‘What is there to see? Fangs and paws and look at this mane of hair! No wonder Edward could barely stand to dance one Waltz with me.’

‘Well, he is a fool if that’s the case. I remember how fine you looked at balls! So elegant! I was always so jealous of whoever had the pleasure of dancing with you.’

‘You? Jealous? I can’t imagine that! You were always so kind. Unlike me! If only I hadn’t been such a wretched, selfish, foolish little girl! You wouldn’t be cursed. You would still be my beautiful Mina.’

‘Do you want to know something?’

‘Yes?’

‘No, forget it…’

‘What?’

‘You’ll just say I’m stupid.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

‘Alright, then… Every day I looked at you and thought “I wish I could be as beautiful as Lady Florence!” But you know what? You are still my beautiful Florence.’

‘Do not mock me, Mina…’

‘I am not! Look at me.’

‘No!’ Florence shut her eyes so as not to see herself in the looking glass.

‘Oh, don’t cry, Flo… I wish I could show you who you are inside, not only what the surface shows. Oh, Florence, if you only saw how beautiful you truly are!’

‘I am not.’

‘Yes, you are, in my eyes. You can’t deny that. You just have to believe me.’

Florence didn’t have a comeback for that. It had been more than ten years since anyone had ever called her beautiful and she believed it. She used to take it for granted. And never cared whether the compliments were hollow and only thrown at her feet because of her wealth and standing. She knew well enough how beautiful she was, no one needed to flatter her.

Now, however? She had not felt anything other than purely monstrous inside and out for so long she thought there was no going back.

Dear Mina, whom she had always loved as a friend... a friend or more? She believed they were friends. She didn't know what else to call her, let alone how to tell her what she really felt. The stronger she felt that something about her, the more she shamefully overlooked her and ignored her… And now? Mina, like everyone else, was suffering so, because of her. Yet she was still as kind as ever to Florence.

She reached out a paw-like hand to touch the glass that showed her ghastly reflection.

‘Oh!’ Mina jumped. ‘Careful, that tickles!’

Florence heard herself giggle. Actually giggle, so very much like she used to, in her real voice! She had almost forgotten that as well!

‘Do you remember the last ball we threw?’ Florence asked, sniffing back tears.

‘Oh, the one with all the ice cream? Goodness, how could I forget?’ Mina reminisced.

‘Indeed... I told you it was just a fad but the truth was that I hired two expert chefs specially to whip you up the most delicious flavours you could ever want.’

‘Did you really?’

‘Yes, I really did.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know… I suppose I just wanted to do something nice for you.’

‘Why did you never tell me that before?!’

‘Because. It’s embarrassing.’

‘You find it embarrassing to admit you care for your friends?’

Mina would have shaken her head if she could. All the same, the gilded carving atop the middle pane curved upwards that resembled her trademark wide smile indeed.

‘See? You do have it in you.’

‘I suppose I do…’ Florence admitted, thinking. ‘I won’t win him over, Mina.’

‘Why don’t you sleep on it? Everything will look brighter in the morning.’

Lady Florence didn’t need telling twice: she had forced her monstrous body into a corset for the evening and she couldn’t wait to get out of it.

‘Psst.’

Mina felt something tickle her in the sides a little later.

‘Harriet! Where have you been? Flirting with Prince Ernst again, were you?’

‘Shush… Mina, where will Florence be in the morning?’

‘I don’t know. Probably not making wedding plans, that’s for sure.’

‘We have to make sure she’s out of her room in the morning.’

‘Why?’

‘Alfred’s coming to visit.’

‘Oh! She won’t like that! She saw him with Edward and it upset her so.’

‘Did someone mention our Alfred?’ a tall wooden comb hopped over with difficulty. He was a fine accessory but one of his two forks was missing from the bottom. A gilded hairbrush supported him just in time before he fell over.

‘Is something wrong with our son, Duchess?’

‘Nothing is wrong,’ Harriet was quick to say, much to Lord and Lady Anglesey’s relief.

‘Good! I thought the boy might have stepped on him by accident!’

‘No, Edward is taking very good care of Alfred,’ she reassured them.

‘More than good… Florence said he’s sleeping in the boy’s bed,’ Mina said, prompting much giggling and blushing all around. This was news to Harriet too, since she had left before Alfred hopped over to the bed to try and _talk_ to Edward. Even Lacy Lady Portman stopped pretending she was asleep upon hearing this. ‘Shush, we don’t want to wake Florence. As I said, Alfred says he’ll be here in the morning to discuss a new plan.’

***

‘I don’t care what it takes, I’ll find that castle somehow and get him out of there!’ Maurice muttered to himself for the hundredth time.

He was wading through knee-deep snow, the wind threatening to blow the map he was gripping with fingers numb from the cold.

Upon hearing wolf cries, he took out Edward’s tinderbox and fumbled with it until it lit up. Fire should warn off any predators.

He pulled his cloak tighter up his neck and determined to go on and save his only son or die trying.

***

Edward woke to his hair being softly brushed.

‘Hello, Alfred…’

‘Good morning, Edward,’ the hairbrush replied in its usual soothing, velvety voice. Alfred had really grown much too fond of this young man and couldn’t help himself. He may have become a silver accessory but his heart was not made of metal. ‘Did you have nightmares?’

‘Why? Oh, crikey, I didn’t crush you in my sleep, did I?’

‘Not to worry,’ Alfred giggled sweetly. ‘You fidgeted a lot but I was quite comfortable in your pocket. _Up there_ ,’ Alfred nodded to Edward’s breast pocket. He slept in there, finding Edward’s heartbeats quite relaxing, actually. Plus, no danger of slipping through the gap between cushions. Tough life, that of a hairbrush’s is.

Edward sat up and rubbed his sleepy eyes.

‘You’re not going to try to convince me to breakfast with Lady Florence now, are you? Please say you’re not.’

‘She’s having a new dress fitted all morning. I daresay she wouldn’t like you to join her for that.’

‘I believe she won’t want me to join her for anything after last night. I’ll be glad if Lumiere doesn’t singe me. They were all so disappointed in me.’

‘Did you tell her why you won’t love her like…’

‘Like a man should love a woman?’

‘Don’t talk like that,’ Alfred said kindly. ‘You can’t help how you feel.’

‘But if I wasn’t this way, I would be able to help you all.’

 _If you weren’t this way, you would be breaking my heart_ , Alfred thought.

‘Listen, I have to go and visit a friend,’ he said instead.

‘Who?’

‘Miss Coke.’

‘That’s Florence’s mirror, isn’t it? Let me come with you.’

‘No need. You just stay in bed, sleep in, ring for breakfast…’

‘But the mistress’s room is miles away. Let me take you,’ Edward insisted and tucked Alfred into his breast pocket.

‘Oh!’

‘What, did I hurt you?’ Edward asked, worried he squeezed Alfred too hard. He didn’t realise until now what a giant he must seem to the small folk in this house, like something out of Gulliver’s Travels!

‘Ground rule number four: no touching without permission,’ Alfred said, somewhat embarrassed. ‘If I don’t poke you in places, nor should you, monsieur!’

‘There he is!’ Harriet rejoiced upon seeing Lord Alfred pop into the mistress’s post-apocalyptic bedchamber. ‘What took you so long? Oh!’

Everyone got excited when they saw Edward step in. Excited, not angry—he was worried everyone still hated him because he was proving such a disappointment. Luckily, no abuse was hurled his way.

He leaned forward to help Alfred on the vanity to greet his mother and father before introducing them, and the rest of the court.

‘…And this is Wilhelmina,’ he finished.

‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Coke,’ Edward said, shaking a side mirror by the gilded frame as a gesture.

‘How gallant!’ Mina sighed.

‘Don’t,’ Alfred quickly shut her down. ‘Excuse her, Edward, she’s just…’

‘I am not! You always exaggerate so!’ Mina protested.

‘Mina, you had a crush on Ernst for over a year!’

‘Wasn’t a whole year…’

‘And then on me!’

‘Weren’t you going to tell us about a plan?’ Mina tried to change the subject. But they were right on it already.

‘Pray tell us, Mina: who else exactly did you have a crush on? More than anyone else?’

‘I don’t know what you mean…’ she lied.

‘Mina, we know.’

‘There is nothing to know…’

‘Mina, we _know_ ,’ Harriet chimed in. ‘We all know.’

‘What does everyone know?’ Edward asked, feeling left out.

‘Miss Coke has been in love with Lady Florence for as long as time itself!’ Lord Alfred initiated him into this great and poorly-guarded secret at last.

The courtiers fled swiftly out of the way amidst shrieks as Mina folded her side mirrors inwards to hide her shame, nearly sweeping them off the table in the process. But it was so embarrassing!

‘I told you that in confidence, Alfred!’

‘There are no secrets in this castle! It’s no secret that Lady Florence returns your tender feelings…’

Mina cringed from being put on the spot and hid herself more. Edward, however, felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. If someone already loved Florence, surely, he was released from his impossible duty. Something didn’t add up, though.

‘Hang on,’ he said,’ Miss Coke, if you truly love Lady Florence, why isn’t the spell broken?’

Mina stayed folded into herself.

‘Ah, true love becomes so when one admits it proudly,’ Alfred replied, turning to Edward. ‘Which reminds me… Tell them, Edward.’

The boy was hesitant. Still afraid. ‘No, Alfred…’

‘I promise it’ll be better. Look, we all support the ladies.’

‘But I…’ Edward made the mistake of looking into Alfred’s big blue eyes and he remembered the gorgeous man in the painting in his room. If this was the way to save him, he was willing to do anything. ‘I cannot be the princess’s love because I would prefer… a prince.’

Understanding dawned on the courtiers.

‘Darling, do you—’ Lady Anglesey turned immediately to Alfred who shushed her curiously quickly.

Edward tried to ignore that. ‘So you see, that’s why I am certainly not the one to break the spell. But, Miss Coke…’

The mirror opened up again, tentatively, but listening.

‘Mina,’ Alfred spoke to her kindly. ‘If you told her…’

‘She’s going to laugh at me.’

‘What if she won’t?’

‘I am her worst enemy! A mirror! Every time she comes near me, she breaks down in tears at her own reflection!’

‘Then you must tell her you love her for what is inside.’

‘She won’t care. She doesn’t really love me, that’s why the spell hasn’t been broken, I know it.’

‘That’s not true, child,’ Lady Anglesey spoke up. ‘I have heard the way she speaks about you. Missing you, and remember what she said about the last ball? Surely, she cares very deeply about you.’

‘But she doesn’t _love_ me. I’m telling you. She won’t love me until she detests herself so much.’

‘Would you rather stay a mirror all your life than confess your love to her?’

‘I won’t tell her until she tells me,’ Mina said stubbornly.

‘Well then, you heard it everyone,’ Alfred addressed everyone. ‘Let’s get Florence to get over herself and tell Mina she loves her. We’ll get our limbs and all other parts back in no time!’

‘May I talk to her?’ Edward surprised everyone by asking.

‘Are you sure? Lumiere says she was awfully angry at you last night.’

‘Lumiere should mind his own business!’

‘Oh, I like him,’ Lord Anglesey concluded about Edward. ‘Finally, someone with something about him, son!’

Alfred’s silver turned rosy again. Edward tried to ignore that but it was hard to put out that spark of pride in his chest. Lord Alfred’s parents approved of him! He needed no further encouragement.

‘Where is she?’ he asked.

Lady Florence was deep in thought, overlooking her garden on the balcony. The rose was wilting more and more each day. It was hopeless. No one would love her in time. No one would _ever_ love her.

‘Is that a new dress?’ Edward asked, approaching her.

She had to take but a quick glance at the boy. ‘Did _he_ put you up to this?’ She could see the silver hairbrush, her age-old friend Lord Alfred tucked in the pocket of his waistcoat.

‘Just listen to him, Florence,’ Alfred asked.

‘I saw you two quite cosy last night. What could he want from me?’

‘I came to apologise, your grace,’ Edward said and sat by her side on the balustrade. ‘I wasn’t entirely honest with you. I should have said something…’

‘No, it’s alright. I know what it’s like to hide one’s feelings for fear of judgement.’

‘Perhaps you should be more open about it. If you love your friends, tell them… tell her--’

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘How so?’

Lady Florence was steeped in gloom. ‘I don’t like to… Ugh, never mind. You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Try me,’ Edward said. He was spared a dismissive humpf that was all. ‘Come on… my lady, I have only spent a couple of days in this castle and there is not one person I have met who doesn’t adore you.’

‘They are too kind. I don’t deserve it, they know it.’

‘I don’t think that’s it.’

‘Well, I was spoiled cow before the curse, I am the first to admit it.’

‘You must have had some redeeming qualities.’

Florence thought about that. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘I really was awful!’

‘Not true, you gave the most wonderful ball for my seventeenth birthday!’ Alfred reasoned with her.

‘It was just so I could invite Lord Septimus…’ Florence waved it off.

‘Did he and you…?’

‘No. I found him in a broom cupboard with my maid.’

Alfred just rolled his eyes. Typical Septimus.

‘Your grace,’ Edward spoke again. ‘I’ve read so many books. Perhaps I can help you figure out a way—’

‘Didn’t you hear me? You wouldn’t understand!’ she snapped.

‘Why not?’

‘Have you ever been a princess?’

‘…no.’

‘Then you don’t know what it’s like to be treated as a prize donkey, everyone pushing you be pretty, to marry well and stop being a nuisance! Do you know why I roar and shout so much? Because I CAN. Everybody used to tell me to shut it, to be quiet and accommodating and never to share my own opinions! Nobody asked what kind of a man I even liked, whether I even liked men at all, it’s not up to me to choose who, I’ll marry anyway! The king and queen will sort it all out, pick some horrible but rich cad who doesn’t even like ice cream –I mean _who_ doesn’t like _ice cream_?! No, love is out of the question, how foolish of ME to confuse marriage with LOVE? All the while everyone pampering me and stuffing me into stiff corsets and my mother slapping my wrist so I didn’t have any cake and so I starved to fit into clothes chosen for me by others! I mean, you’d be pretty snappy, too, wouldn’t you?! And then, after all your hard work, when you dare to admire yourself, people call you vain and arrogant and big-headed! And then an old hag shows up and turns you and your friends into…THIS! Perhaps I should have been nicer but I was only seventeen!!! What does anyone know about anything at seventeen??? And I’m sorry if I wasn’t in the most charitable mood that day the enchantress came! I tried to run away, you know—I ran all the way to the village and a horrible man nearly dragged me into the woods but my horse kicked him in the privates and we got away! Men! Can’t escape them in the castle, or out there! Sorry to be a bit short-tempered but after that I did NOT appreciate being cursed with the task of finding A MAN to get my body back! How twisted is THAT?! Oh! Oh! Now I remember! I ran away from that horrible villager actually wishing I were a strong beast so that I would never have to fear him again! Think of that—careful, Florence, what you wish for! Oh, it’s all my fault! All my--’

She choked, out of breath, it all came out so suddenly, she didn’t know where from!

‘I do apologise…’

‘No need,’ Edward said kindly, excited because he felt he was getting closer to a solution. Even Alfred could feel his heart race beneath the fabric of his garments. ‘It’s not your fault, Lady Florence. Whatever’s happened, it’s not your fault.’

Lord Alfred fished a handkerchief out of Edward’s pocket, which he handed to her to dry her eyes.

‘Thank you…’

‘I think you know, I won’t be your husband, Lady Florence but can we perhaps be friends?’

‘Friends?’ she considered that. ‘Alright.’

‘Good. And I do know what you’re talking about, actually.’

‘ _You?_ ’

‘Well, not the luxury… my parents are no king and queen… But I know what it’s like to be treated like that in a way… to be dressed for someone else, to be pushed to marry…’

Lady Florence realised what she had made Edward go through in the castle—she did what her own mother did to her!

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, not you. Well, not just you. Do you know why I read so much?’

‘Because books are amazing?’

‘They are,’ Edward smiled at her brightly but focused on the point. ‘But I read all the time… _All_ the time. Even as I am walking down the street.’

‘Oh. How odd that must seem!’

‘I know. But it is so that no one speaks to me. I see the way girls look at me. My own father tells me so every day. He would be happy for me to marry. But I don’t want any of that, just like you didn’t want to marry a man you don’t love. You weren’t wrong to wish you were a beast. I confess, since I’ve been here, I have wished I could swap places with you, too—no, truly. For one, if I looked like you, I wouldn’t have to find excuse after excuse against marriage when my father asks.’

‘Because you _don’t_ like women?’

‘There really are no secrets in this castle.’

‘I’ve figured it out for myself by now, thank you…’

‘Well, then. Let me be perfectly honest: I have wished I were like you because I would also be stronger than anyone, I would never feel unsafe again—remember how you saved me from the wolves? I will never forget that. Because… I also know what you mean by having your arm twisted by a… a cad like that… literally.’

Alfred was listening to him intently. Edward hadn’t told him about any of that before.

Edward swallowed, his lips went dry just from the memory. He was safe on this balcony, he knew that, but he was rather scared at the time.

‘There’s a villager who nearly… well, I don’t know what he wanted to do but he held me down and I could see that he… wanted me. I may prefer men, that’s true, but not men like him.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Tall, broad-shouldered, long black---’

‘---hair he ties in the back with a ribbon?’ she finished, to his utter surprise.

‘Gaston.’

‘You know his name?’

‘Of course. _He_ hurt you?’

‘Almost.’

‘Oh, that scoundrel… I’m so sorry. It is just like him to do something like that. He can get any girl in the town, he boasts about it, too. I think he’s compensating. Or he’s really just that awful. No one says no to Gaston, that’s what he told me… after his proposal was rejected by the baker’s daughter.’

Lady Florence chuckled. ‘Served him right. Good for her! I bet you’re happy to have escaped that ghastly village.’

‘Yes…’ Edward said and looked off into the distance, deep in thought.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘If only I could see my father again, just for a moment. I miss him so much.’

Lord Alfred looked at the mistress meaningfully, with big blue eyes.

‘There is a way,’ she gave in.

She led Edward all the way back to her bedroom and handed him the magic mirror.

‘This will show you anything, anything you wish to see.’

‘Wait… anything?’

‘Why, yes.

Edward raised the mirror and spoke to it clearly.

‘I’d like to see my mother, please.’

The mirror came to life with a luminescent glow. Edward had to squint from the force of it but when it was over, he could see his mother, just as he remembered her from his childhood. He held the mirror so that Alfred could see her, too.

Then, he raised the mirror and spoke to it again.

‘Now could you show me… Lord Alfred, in his true form?’

The mirror glowed and showed him just what he wanted to see. It was just Lord Alfred, in his uniform, running down carpeted stairs, a smile on his face and soon he knew why: he was going to the ballroom, where about a hundred guests were dancing. His smile… his eyes… everything… Edward wanted to stand there and watch him forever.

After Alfred poked him gently, he remembered not to be greedy…

This time, he asked the mirror to show his father as he was in that minute. He waited for the mirror to work its magic, and looked… And gasped! Maurice was in the woods, struggling with hail and wind, collapsing into the snow from exhaustion, too weak to go on.

‘Papa! Oh, no! He’s sick! He may be dying! And he’s all alone!’

Lady Florence glanced at the rose—it was wilting more and more by the minute. But she also saw how alarmed the boy was. ‘Then… then you must go to him,’ she said at last.

‘What did you say?’ Edward asked, aghast.

‘I release you. It’s not like you’re ever going to fall in love with me. Go. You are no longer my prisoner.’

‘You mean… I’m free?’

‘Yes.’

‘But… the curse. You have to take my advice and tell her—’

‘Leave that to me. Go now, don’t waste time on me. You’re free.’

‘Oh, thank you! Hold on, Papa, I’m on my way…’ Edward threw the mirror on a table and went to leave. However, conflicted, he turned back to her. ‘May I take Lord Alfred with me?’

Lady Florence didn’t mean to be selfish, she just wasn’t sure about the rules of the charm. Besides, if anything happened, she didn’t want to lose her dear friend.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I can allow that.’

‘Please…’ Alfred asked, with big, pleading, blue eyes.

Alas, she had to be firm, for safety.

‘I’m sorry, it won’t be safe for you out there,’ she said. ‘But, Edward, take this.’

She handed him the magic mirror.

‘So you’ll always have a way to look back and remember us.’

Edward, though he couldn’t mask his sorrow at having to part from Alfred, accepted the mirror.

‘Thank you for understanding how much my father needs me. May I… may I say goodbye to Alfred, at least?’

‘Of course,’ she said, turning away. She was glad his friends found each other but she couldn’t look at them without envy, wishing the bond they had for herself.

Edward had some tact and stepped into the hallway.

‘I’m not leaving you,’ Alfred protested as soon as Edward took him out of his pocket. ‘Take me with you.’

‘You heard her, I can’t,’ Edward said, heart breaking as he placed him gently on the carpet. He kneeled before him, like a knight. ‘Listen, my father needs me now. She’s right, it won’t be safe. But as soon as I’ve found him and taken him home, I’ll come back for you. I promise. You are my friend.’

‘You believe we are friends?’

‘I wouldn’t know what else to call us…’

Edward raised his hand to his lips, kissed his finger, and touched it ever so gently against Alfred’s lips, as a show of his true affection.

He couldn’t face any further goodbyes. He stood, grabbed his cloak and left, quickly, before he changed his mind. Lady Florence was right: if he wanted to save his father, he had to let Alfred go.

For now.


	7. Into Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is free to save his father and takes him home to recover. Coming to terms with his feelings about Alfred, he wants to tell his father about someone special. However, when doctor D'Arque shows up on his doorstep, all hell breaks loose.

‘She did WHAT?!’

It befell on Lord Alfred to tell everyone what exactly Lady Florence and Edward’s conversation was about, after which she let him go to save his father.

He was bombarded with questions of all sorts but he was too crestfallen to answer.

It did occur to him to steal into Edward’s pocket before he left but a promise was a promise and he said he would be good. That, however, left him with the task of waiting. Ridiculous! He was a soldier, after all, a decorated cavalryman! He wasn’t good at waiting for his… _Edward_ … to return from battle.

Alas, he went back to his room, to accept being alone again. What if Edward stayed with his father after all? He was homesick, wasn’t he? Surely, he did everything he could to get out of the castle. Now that he was free, why would he care about a stupid little hairbrush?

He turned down Mrs Potts’s offer of a cuppa and Ernst’s attempt to cheer him up by giving him a trim. That’s all he needed, to be balded by a rowdy blade! He sent everyone away to convince Florence and Mina to confess their love at long last.

But oh, he couldn’t even try to forget about Edward, not when he found the boy’s necktie lying on the floor, the one he had cast aside the night before in his distress. He picked it up, wrapped it around himself like a blanket, smelling Edward’s scent on the fabric, and hopped on the windowsill to watch the grounds in the hopes of seeing Edward again soon.

***

Edward was indeed waging a war against the elements. Luckily, no wolves crossed his path now that Lady Florence had taught them a lesson. But even if the beasts weren’t biting, the cold certainly was.

He searched and searched the woods with eyes teary from the icy wind.

Night was falling and he was starting to lose hope.

Finally, Philippe neighed excitedly and Edward couldn’t stop him even if he tried—sure enough, the horse sensed Maurice before Edward spotted him: he was lying in the snow lifeless and all alone!

He jumped out of the saddle and rescued his father—he was cold and blue, but to Edward’s immense relief his heart was still beating. He wrapped him in his cloak and lifted him on the horse.

Philippe knew the way from there and they made it home in no time.

***

‘Oho! They’re back!’

Maurice and his boy were back in the village!

Lefou ran with all his might to tell Gaston.

***

Strange. Edward had got so used to objects acting of their own accord all around him in the past couple of days that he was quite frustrated at having to boil water himself, instead of it coming from a chatty teapot.

He had also somewhat missed this. This modest little house, his own teapot, his own stove, having free reign in this wooden palace of his and his Papa’s. But then, he felt a tugging in his heart, something that told him he belonged somewhere else, to someone in the castle…

Alfred. Gorgeous, handsome, lovely Lord Alfred. He already missed him so much! How could that be? It was madness!

Perhaps it was madness to tell all his own shabby kitchenware all about Lord Alfred, too. Well, old habits die hard.

‘How am I going to tell my father about Alfred, hm? I love him. But I don’t want to lose Papa.’

Alas, no reply came from the kettle. So rude!

Shrugging, he returned to the bedroom where Maurice was tucked into his warm bed. He sat by his side, waiting and nursing him until he came to at last.

‘Edward…?’ Maurice croaked. He wasn’t young anymore and the ordeal exhausted him. But the smile he had when he recognised his own son! He would never lose that, not with age, not for anything.

‘It’s alright, Papa. I’m home.’ Edward checked the side of a mug and, satisfied with its temperature, handed some soup to his father.

‘I thought I’d never see you again.’

‘I missed you so much.’

‘But the beast! How did you escape?’

‘I didn’t escape, Papa. She let me go.’

‘That horrible beast?!’

‘She’s hot horrible… well, she was difficult at first, but… she’s changed. She just needed a friend to understand her.’

‘But she kept you in a dungeon—’

‘No, I was given a very nice room. I was treated very well at the castle. They dressed me, they cooked feasts for me, I could go anywhere I liked. I made a lot of friends, Papa. I… I think I’ve… I’ve fallen in love.’

‘Oh? With her?!’

‘No, not with the beast, with someone else. Someone--’

Edward was interrupted by a knock on the door. He had a bad feeling about this—who could it be at this late hour?

He opened the door and a green-skinned old man he didn’t know was standing on the porch.

‘May I help you?’ he asked.

‘I’ve come to collect your father,’ the man croaked gleefully and Edward became aware of the wagon parked outside the house. It bore the asylum’s name on the side.

‘My father?’ Edward asked dryly.

‘Don’t worry, monsieur. We’ll take good care of him.’

Edward blocked the entrance before the vile little man could take a single step forward. ‘My father’s not crazy.’

Lefou appeared out of nowhere. ‘He was raving like a lunatic! We all heard him in the tavern!’

‘Lefou. Is Gaston behind this?’ Edward asked at once—if Lefou was there, so was…

…sure enough, the despicable scoundrel showed himself, dread filling Edward’s veins. This was the last thing he needed right now, this boar to show up and meddle more.

‘Doctor,’ Gaston addressed the doctor in his most sickly sweet tone, ‘May I have a private word with the boy?’

‘Certainly, monsieur…’

Doctor D’Arque and Lefou stepped well out of earshot.

‘Let the doctor take your father in, Drummond.’ Gaston moved to enter.

‘No, I won’t let you,’ Edward insisted, drawing himself up to his full height and gripping the doorframe so hard his nails left marks in the varnish. ‘Why are you doing this? What do you really want?’

Gaston leaned much too close to Edward, breathing to him covertly: ‘Why don’t you come into the woods and we’ll discuss—’

‘Ha! No, thank you. I know what you did to Lady Florence.’

Gaston’s eyes flashed with surprise and anger and he changed course. ‘You see this is exactly the kind of thing I want to talk to you about. You need to learn to shut your--’

‘I know what kind of a man you are.’

‘You’re talking to me? You, in love with your little lord ladidah! Yes, Drummond, I heard it all. You haven’t fallen too far from the tree—talking to your teapot. Very amusing. Now… if you don’t want me to tell _everyone_ …’

‘I don’t care if you tell everyone. I am in love with him and I am proud of it.’

Gaston didn’t know what to do with that. It had never occurred to him that a man could love a man and be proud of it, too. It was but a moment’s thought as anger was easier than any other feeling. Hot jealousy blazed in him, blinding him—why can someone else have Edward and he couldn’t? Didn’t _he_ deserve the best?

‘…unlike you, Gaston,’ Edward daringly added, and that sealed his fate. ‘You’re a sad, vile man, and you keep lying to yourself—’

‘Shut your mouth, how dare you—If you dare say anything like that to anyone—your father will rot in the asylum forever.’

‘It’s the truth.’

Gaston laughed coldly. ‘Who would believe you over me?’

‘Shall we find out?’ Edward asked defiantly as he spotted a crowd approaching. Lefou and the doctor got a dozen villagers to join. There were about a dozen of them, standing around with torches, watching.

Edward opened his mouth and Gaston backed quickly away.

Instead of keeping himself to himself, he turned to his audience loudly, ready to give them a show.

‘Ah, Maurice! Come, tell us again, old man, just how big was the beast? We would all like to hear about it so very much!’

‘Papa, no!’ Edward had been so preoccupied with keeping intruders out of the house that he wasn’t prepared for his feverish father’s escape!

‘Well, he was enormous!’ Maurice foolishly told anyone who would listen. ‘I’d say at least eight, no, more like ten feet!’

‘Well, you don’t get much crazier than that!’ Lefou incited the crowd, who were bent over from laughing so hard.

‘It’s true, I tell you!’

‘Take him away!’

‘No, you can’t do this!’ Edward stepped in, running down the porch to protect his father with his own body before the handlers got their hands on him. ‘You know he’s not crazy, Gaston! You’re the one who—’

‘I MIGHT be able to clear up this little misunderstanding,’ Gaston interrupted him quickly, before the boy blabbered. ‘If you tell everyone you won’t marry Marie.’

‘What?!’

‘They are all right there, Drummond,’ he indicated the baker, his wife, and their daughter, who were all watching from the sides in the torchlight.

Edward realised that was the façade for this whole charade. He laughed, and turned to them, this should be easy.

‘Marie, I’ve no intention of asking your hand. You are free to choose whomever you like but me. Happy?’

‘And… why is that?’ Gaston pushed him for more nastily.

Edward frowned. ‘Wasn’t this enough?’

‘If you’re so proud as you say…’

Right, perhaps it wasn’t going to be so easy. But Edward just huffed. He was tired of being bullied. Prepared to do and say nearly anything to make sure his father didn’t end up in the asylum wagon, he turned freely and bravely to the crowd:

‘I don’t want to marry her because I am in love with a man.’

The reaction of the villagers was quite different than that of the courtiers. They leered and jeered, egged on by Lefou. Their abuse was mounting so high so quickly that Edward really began to fear they would gang up on him and put him in the pillory for all to shame him, throw things at him, leave him there to languish without a friend by his side. Who knows when he would get out of there? What if he never saw Alfred again?

But above all, he worried about that stunned and astonished look on his father’s face. His father, who was being thrown into the wagon by vengeful, spiteful villagers who wanted them gone even more than before, punished and cured of their insanity.

Gaston was laughing gleefully, sure of his victory.

‘Like father like son! Mental! Look at what he’s wearing!

Edward realised he was still wearing Alfred’s golden waistcoat from the night before.

‘All he needs is a bit of rouge and powder!’ Gaston went on, enjoying the crowd’s reaction as they ridiculed Edward. ‘The boy even tried to make advances on me, imagine that!’

‘No! _That’s_ not true. It was Gaston who—’

‘You know what, doctor, why don’t you take both of them away while you’re here? We don’t want people like their sort in our town!’

But Edward was quicker: he jumped out of the way of two handlers and stood above the crowd on the porch.

‘Fine, don’t believe me, hate _me_ all you want, take _me_ away! But my father is not crazy! He’s telling the truth and I can prove it!’ Edward quickly got the magic mirror from his satchel and even those villagers most hungry for violence stopped dead in their tracks.

There was no denying it: the beast was real.

‘Is it dangerous?’ Marie asked fearfully—perhaps she still leaned towards believing Edward.

‘Oh, no, she’s never hurt anyone. I know she looks vicious but she’s really kind and gentle. She’s my friend.’

‘Ha! If I didn’t know better,’ Gaston jeered. ‘I’d think you had feelings for this monster! There’s no end to his perversions!’

‘She’s no monster, Gaston. You are!’

‘See, he’s as crazy as the old man!’

Edward cursed all this village more than ever before! They were all back under Gaston’s terrible influence, believing his every nasty word as he poisoned them all against Lady Florence.

‘The beast will make off with your children! She’ll come after them in the night! We’re not safe ‘til her head is mounted on my wall! I say we KILL THE BEAST!’

‘KILL THE BEAST!’ chanted the crowd. ‘We’re not safe until she’s dead,’ they said, bouncing off one another’s ideas. ‘She’ll come stalking us at night! Set to sacrifice our children to her monstrous appetite! He’ll wreak havoc on our village if we let her wander free!’

‘So it’s time to take some action, boys!’ Gaston grabbed a torch, his power gone to his head. ‘It’s time to follow me!’

‘No, I won’t let you do this!’ Edward protested, even though he knew he was vastly outnumbered.

‘If you’re not with us, you’re against us! Bring the old man! We can’t have them running off to warn the creature!’

And with that, Maurice and Edward were thrown into their own cellar. The door was bolted. They would not escape now. No one was listening to their pleas, no one cared about crazy, old Maurice and his pariah of a son.

There was only one dusty little window, too small to break and climb through. But that allowed Edward to see the crowd march off towards the woods, towards the castle, riled up and led by Gaston.

‘No!’ he sobbed. They were going to storm the castle, where Alfred was! He had to get out of there, he had to save him!

He searched around in the dark for something, anything he could use to force open the door.

‘You’ll hurt yourself, son,’ Maurice said gently but Edward was livid.

‘Why did you do it? Didn’t you see they were just trying to get you to fall into their trap! They’re just bullies, foolish, short-sighted bullies! And now they’re going to try and kill her!’

‘But she’s a beast!’

‘She’s not a beast! She’s just cursed! She was a beautiful lady once. Her name is Lady Florence. She’s a princess.’

‘She took you from me!’

‘She saved my life,’ Edward stopped struggling and dropped a useless stool leg on the floor, giving up on the blasted door. ‘And so I listened to her. She’s gone through some terrible things. She was forbidden to love freely because her parents wanted a marriage of convenience for her. So she tried to escape. After a man nearly hurt her—Gaston—she ran back to her castle, just as an enchantress showed up. I’m afraid the princess was rather dismissive of her and so the witch cursed her. She gave her a rose, which would bloom until her twenty-first birthday and wilt thereafter… Unless she finds her true love before all the petals fall, she will remain a beast forever.’

Edward was glad to see his father wasn’t so hostile against the princess anymore. He loved his Papa, his imagination and his open mind, which allowed him to change his mind even in the face of fear.

‘She not so bad, she’s quite nice, really,’ he continued. ‘And she is already loved by someone, someone who just needs a little persuasion to admit it. Proudly. They must learn how to be proud of whom they love. That’s the key. That’s the hardest part.’

Well, Edward, too, learned that the hard way just now.

‘Though, I believe her court are working on bringing that about as we speak…’

Recognition dawned on Maurice. ‘Oh! The candle! And the teapot!’

‘Lumiere, and Mrs Potts! Yes! You’ve met them! Have you met Lord Alfred?’

‘Who?’

‘A hairbrush?’

‘I never saw any hairbrush, my son, not in the tower.’

‘Of course…’

‘Well…’ Maurice pondered all this. ‘How sad! Everyone should know true love!’

‘Do you really believe so Papa?’ Edward asked with hope sparking in his chest.

‘Of course I do! But who could ever love a beast like her?’

‘Someone who was her friend from before. I think they would be happy. I couldn’t. I couldn’t love her.’

‘Alas… the beast—sorry, the princess is no Marie.’

‘Papa…’

‘But she is certainly no lord… um…’

Edward wished they didn’t have this conversation while locked in their cellar. But perhaps it was better this way. Neither of them could escape it.

‘Papa, you know I love you.’

‘I love you too, my boy.’

‘Do you?

‘You take after your Mama. Of course _she_ was a real beauty. Something you inherited from her, also. She never cared what I looked like, she loved me for myself, and I her. Though, I suppose you wouldn’t care if Marie or the princess or anyone else was the most beautiful girl in the world.’

‘No, Papa… I couldn’t fall in love with her. However, I did fall in love with someone in the castle, someone who is a wonderful person, a real beauty inside and out. And when we get out of this cellar… and when you feel better, I hope you come with me to meet him.’

‘The lord at the court you…’

‘Yes. Lord Alfred Paget, papa. A Welsh marquess’s son.’

‘Do you… truly love him?’

‘I think so. I think… yes, Papa. I love him! If only the curse was broken, he would become his true self again. A man so breathtakingly beautiful my heart aches for it, and so kind and charming I have to smile just thinking about him. I wish you would come and meet him. I understand if you don’t want to, and in that case, assuming they can hold the fort tonight, I will go back to the castle anyway, alas with a heavy heart. But it would make me very happy if we had your blessing.’

‘This man is a hairbrush?’

‘A beautiful hairbrush!!!’ someone said outside. Through the tiny window, they could see a face familiar to both of them! Chip!

‘Oh, a stowaway!’ Edward rejoiced, standing on a crate to see the little cup better.

‘Why, hello there, little fella,’ Maurice said kindly to it. ‘Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.’

‘Edward, why’d you go away? Don’t you like us anymore?’ Chip asked.

‘Of course, I do. It’s just that I had to help my father,’ Edward replied, heart still racing—after all, he still didn’t know what his father thought of him now.

‘But you will come back to the castle?’

‘I want to! Chip, something terrible is about to happen: the villagers are on their way there to attack it! We have to warn them! I have to go, I have to help to save them!’

‘Because you looove Lord Alfred?’ Chip teased him.

Edward met his father’s eyes shyly.

‘Papa…? Please say something.’

Maurice was confused. ‘Oh!’ he noticed himself. Ever the scientist, he had been too busy being baffled at the mechanics of a talking teacup. ‘You mean you’re waiting for my approval? My dear boy, Edward, my sole surprise is that your beloved is currently a hairbrush. Not that he is a lad. Not even that he is a _lord_.’

‘Really, Papa?’

‘Of course. Your mother knew even when you were little. You kept requesting that she read your favourite book, only the part about Prince Charming again and again every night!’

Blood rushed to Edward’s cheeks at the memory. He was always enchanted by that, it was true.

‘Then why nag me so about marrying Marie?’

‘Forgive your silly old father, Edward. I suppose I just wanted you to say something. I didn’t know how to ask.’

‘So you don’t mind?’

‘Mind? A marquis’ son? You’ve done well for yourself, I say, better than a baker’s daughter!’

Edward hugged his father so hard his legs lifted off the floor! How Maurice laughed—which brought out his coughs and Edward was fretting about the cold of course, which Maurice waved off. He addressed him seriously now:

‘I would like to meet your Lord Alfred, Edward. But I don’t think you should bring him to the village. You see what they are like here! You’re right, they don’t take kindly to the slightest… eccentricity. They don’t like what they don’t understand. And there is very little they understand.’

‘I know. And don’t worry, we’ll be quite safe and supported in the castle… that is, if we can stop the villagers from destroying it. Chip!’

‘Yes, Edward?’ the teacup stood at attention.

‘Can you see anything outside? Anything you can use to get us out of here?’

Chip looked around and spotted an axe attached to a contraption. Maurice’s wood-chopping machine! That could work…

‘I’m on it!’

***

Meanwhile, the mob of some fifty villagers made it halfway to the castle. No wild beast attacked them, since they were the most savage creatures in the woods that night: eyes burning with hunger for destruction, blinded by rage incited in them by Gaston, their torches lighting their way through the darkness.

Some men felled down a large tree as they approached, planning to use that to break through the gates.

Chanting their song: “Kill the beast! Kill the beast!”


	8. The Siege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The villagers are attacking the castle. Gaston means to kill the beast himself.
> 
> Will Edward be able to return in time? Will the court hold the fort? Can they break the curse in time? 
> 
> And at what cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for staying with me until the magical end!

‘I knew it, I knew it was foolish to get our hopes up!’ Cogsworth lamented.

‘Maybe it would have been better if he had never come at all!’ Lumiere added, putting out his own flames by crying.

There was little to contradict their woes. The rose was wilting more and more and they were supposed to convince Lady Florence and Miss Coke to confess their love to break the curse at last.

Most of the court were assembled in the mistress’s bedroom for this purpose. But she was nowhere to be found.

‘Shush, here she comes!’ Mrs Potts rejoiced when she finally stepped in, dusting snow off her cloak.

‘Where have you been?!’ Harriet rounded on her first thing.

‘I was just out…’

‘Well come here at once and tell Wilhelmina you love her! And do not give me more of this “I won’t if she won’t” nonsense because—’

‘I was just outside to get this,’ Lady Florence cut in, presenting a rose. A real one, tied elegantly with a ribbon. ‘I almost forgot how to make these… Um, will you give me a moment to talk to Mina?’

They were all looking at the mistress in stunned anticipation. Especially Mina.

‘Alone, please,’ she added.

‘Oh right, right…’ they muttered and scattered around, towards the open balcony.

They saw her approach the mirror—Mina—tentatively.

‘Oh, it is just as it should be!’ Mrs Potts whispered, nearly moved to tears. ‘Poor girls, It’s been such a long time coming—’

‘SACRE BLEU!’ Lumiere screamed the next second. ‘INVADERS!’

Everyone joined him on the balustrade, including Lady Florence.

They saw quite clearly that a mob of some fifty men had broken through the gates. They were carrying torches, a great big log, and they were screaming, shouting, chanting “Kill the beast!”

Lady Florence shared the others’ instant worries. But her heart truly sank when she saw _him_ , the man who nearly assaulted her, driving her back to the castle, back into hiding.

‘Gaston…’

‘And they have the mirror!’ Mrs Potts noticed. Was Edward hurt? ‘What should we do?’

‘Take whatever booty you can find!’ Gaston could be heard addressing his troupe. ‘But remember: the beast is mine!’

Lady Florence gasped and backed away from the balcony, feeling like she was just that seventeen year-old young girl, helpless against this vile man.

Lord Anglesey drew himself up to his full height, even though it was not much, and saw exactly what to do:

‘Well, what are you all waiting for? Alert Wellington! If it’s a fight they want, we’ll be ready for them!’

***

‘Come on, Chip, what’s taking so long?!’ Edward asked through the tiny window. Every minute wasted was a minute more danger on the castle, on Lord Alfred.

‘Yes!!! Here we go!’ the teacup announced, pulled a lever and the machine in the garden came to life amid puffs of smoke—he lost control but seemed to be heading somewhere until… CRASH! It drove straight into the cellar door, chopping it into pieces, until it landed on the floor right where Maurice and Edward had been standing not a second ago.

‘You guys have got to try this thing,’ Chip said, emerging from the smoke dizzily.

Edward wasted no more time. They were on Philippe in a flash, racing through the woods faster than ever before.

***

Alfred had drifted into sleep on the windowsill, wrapped warmly in Edward’s cravat.

Alas, an enormous bang echoed around the castle, rousing him.

BANG! Came another.

And another.

He looked out the mullioned glass and saw a nasty mob at the foot of the castle. Men, shouting. They were trying to break in!

The wardrobe came to life as well, fretting as always, and did the others know?

Ah, as they saw when she opened the door, the whole castle had already sprung into action to defend the castle. Wellington’s army of pointy boots and sharp, high-heeled shoes was marching down the hallways and stairs in neat rows, the armours had come to life, all the plates and pots and pans and even Mrs Potts and that great coward Cogsworth were steeling themselves for the fight.

Alfred went to join them but he thought he heard… no, he must have been imagining it… No! He definitely heard his own name now!

‘Alfred! Lord Alfred!’ Edward shouted from afar.

Hopping right back to the window, Alfred saw Edward galloping to his tower on horseback. He pulled to a stop, jumped right off the saddle, and started to climb with no care for his own safety.

Alfred couldn’t believe his eyes! Edward couldn’t get into the castle through the front gates, of course. He was willing to risk his life climbing up on the castle wall for him without hesitation.

‘Edward!’ Alfred opened the window, leaning out, wishing he could help somehow. But how?

Edward, meanwhile, was driven by his need to get to Alfred and trying very hard not to look down… it was all very well climbing up the wall at first but he had passed the point of no return. If he fell now, he would not live to see Alfred, or anyone, again.

Just as he realised that, the head of a stone gargoyle broke under the weight of his foot and he was forced to face just how high up he had made it! He was only a floor away from Alfred’s bedroom. And he was hanging from an embrasure with only one very slippery hand!

‘Hang on!’ Alfred shouted for him in encouragement and acted fast.

 _Come on, Alfred_ , Edward thought. _Hurry up…_ He was holding onto the rough wall with all his strength while his feet were hanging in thin air! He wasn’t sure how much… longer… he could…

‘Take it, Edward!’ he heard Alfred, and realised that there was a rope of some kind hung from the window for him. A rope made out of clothes tied together.

He strained his arms once more to grab the lifeline and climbed the last floor’s height with more ease. He clambered through the window, falling right on the floor, and tried to catch his breath.

The wardrobe withdrew her garments into the safety of her drawers and ran off to make sure they held the fort against the intruders.

Alfred, however, stayed by Edward’s side.

‘Edward! You came back!’

‘Of course I did,’ Edward told him, giddy from breathlessness or from seeing him again, and the prospect of saving him from the curse, and the villagers, both of which were very pressing matters. ‘Alfred, listen. The villagers are riled up against Lady Florence,’ he explained, even as more bangs sounded. Surely, the front doors would not keep them out for much longer. ‘Gaston himself means to kill her.’

‘Oh, no! But we must get to her immediately!’

Just as Alfred said that, they could hear the front doors break open with a deafening bang.

The men already made it into the castle!

***

Downstairs in the vast entrance hall…

…no fighting broke out just yet.

The villagers walked in… and met none of the enemy they could heard from outside… where were they…? Where _were_ they—

‘NOW!’

Upon Lumiere’s command, all the objects sprung into life and attacked the intruders in any way they could! Wellington’s army of boots were kicking them in the backside, the armours were slaying and swishing enormous axes and flails, and even Mrs Potts was drenching them in boiling hot water!

***

Edward watched from the upper floor as all hell broke loose in the castle. There was fighting everywhere, objects flying, people charging. Absolute chaos! How would he get through the fray to get to the west wing, where Florence was?

‘Take my sword,’ Alfred suggested. Back in his room, above the mantelpiece, above the pictures of the Paget family, Alfred’s longsword was still there on display: beautiful but deadly.

Edward took it out of its case and…

…dropped it.

‘Have you never held a sword in your hand before?!’

‘Is that so obvious?’

Edward had dreamed and dreamed of living such an adventurous life as this but felt like a sham knight. He had climbed up into his beloved’s tower but he had to be saved by petticoats on the last feet. Now he was the one to save the princess but he could hardly lift a sword.

Alfred just rolled his eyes fondly. ‘Pick it up. Firmly, don’t be scared, like a hammer or the harness of your horse. That’s the trick! Now take a step back. Hold it out… not like a knife, this is a sword, not a toy! Right, relax your shoulder. Posture! Good. Do you see that spot on the wallpaper?’

‘Yes.’

‘Aim at it.’

Edward managed to slash a cut in the wallpaper about a foot above it.

‘Good enough,’ Alfred concluded.

Edward was running out the door. No time to lose!

‘Wait! Just what do you think you’re doing?!’

‘What?’

Alfred didn’t even reason with him, he just jumped into Edward’s breast pocket. There was no arguing with him, he was staying in there, he would NOT be left behind this time. Edward had to accept that. And when he did, off he ran, truly this time, into the fray…

He spotted him as soon as he was at the main stairs: taller, broader, and more violent than anyone, an armed Gaston was heading up the west wing with quite a head start. It didn’t help that they nearly lost him when Prince Ernst and about a hundred kitchen knives circled a group of men with pitchforks right on the landing.

Edward had no choice but to use the sword both to protect himself and to fight his way through. Alfred was instructing him, using words he didn’t even know! Of course, Lord Alfred was probably a master swordsman—trouble was, he was only as big as Edward’s pocket.

They nearly made it through but someone latched into his leg—a man from the village! Edward turned the sword against him and beat him back but then Lefou appeared out of nowhere and burnt the back of his hand until he dropped the sword, which fell over the railing with a loud clang, far out of reach.

Cornered, he braved the balustrade, risking the height, and tiptoed over their heads until he reached the other side of the railing. Lefou had already begun to torment Lumiere with his torch but Cogsworth was coming to the rescue. Edward didn’t stay to watch. Once he coast was clear ahead of him, he ran, ran after him as fast as he could.

Though the bedroom door was closed, Gaston took a painting off the wall and used its frame to break the latch. He was inside in no time. He was not going to be stopped.

Lady Florence cowered.

She really hoped her court would prevent this man from getting to her. Mina was trying to keep her faith but she had no idea what she would do if it came down to this.

Though she was taller and stronger than Gaston, there was something about seeing this man again that made her legs weak and she froze as if in a nightmare where she knew she wanted to run but couldn’t for the life of hers.

Gaston shot an arrow at her as if he was simply on a hunt for recreation.

To Mina’s horror, she was stung and backed away, out onto the balcony.

‘Ha ha ha! What’s the matter, Beast? Too kind and gentle to fight back?’ Gaston gloated.

Then, being out of arrows, he discarded of his bow and instead raised his gun in the air and pointed it right at her.

‘No! No! Stop!’ Edward ran in just then.

But Gaston had already fired.

Edward dropped to the ground at her feet from the force of the bullet.

At first she cried out in horror, thinking he was dead.

But when she shook him, he was alive! He was coughing but there was no blood.

No blood… just a bullet.

‘No… No, Alfred!’

He pushed himself up and took the little hairbrush in his hands ever so gently. It was a sight he never expected to see: the bullet was lodged in the intricately carved silver. Alfred saved Edward’s heart by shielding him from harm with his own body.

But what good was a working heart if it was broken?

Teardrops rained on the lifeless brush. They were followed by cold rain—as if the heavens above felt the loss of a friend and wept for him.

Let them weep. Edward was, too weak to stand from the pain.

He never even got to tell Alfred he loved him…

Gaston didn’t understand this at all but he cared not a fig about it. All he wanted to do was go in for the kill. He had run out of bullets and arrows. But she was also defenceless and hurt.

It would come down to him and her, fist to fist, body against body.

He lunged at her with all his strength, catching her off guard. They fell over the balustrade—she rolling down the roof until she landed on a buttress, him following suit.

There was nowhere for her to run—it was either the abyss or Gaston.

‘Come on out and fight!’ he taunted her, his voice a thunder in the storm. ‘Were you in love with him? Did you honestly think he’d want you? He wouldn’t have you even if you weren’t a great, ugly beast! He’s an unnatural--’

Florence was provoked by that, getting over his fears somewhat. She struggled with her feelings for Mina for so many years and finally meant to confess them to her. If only the villagers didn’t spoil it! And dear Lord Alfred, he deserved better than his friend not standing up for him.

‘He’s not, he’s my friend--’ she spat at the ever approaching Gaston.

She was on the very edge of the buttress now, careful not to slip on the wet rock in the pouring rain.

‘It’s over beast! Edward is mine!’

No, that was it, _that_ was _it_! She wouldn’t let this vile man hurt anyone else like he wanted to hurt her!

Remembering she had once beaten back a whole pack of wolves, she rose to her feet. And, remembering how much she wished that night ten years since that she was a great, strong beast so as to overpower anyone like Gaston, she struck him, tore at him with her powerful, clawed hands—he was nothing compared to her now!

Eventually, she grabbed him by the neck and held him out over the edge of the buttress.

How the tables have turned! Just one move and he would fall into the abyss. Just as he deserved.

‘Put me down! Put me down!’ he pleaded pathetically, not at all in the mood to gloat and bully. ‘Please, don’t hurt me! I’ll do anything! Anything!’

Though she enjoyed having power over Gaston’s life and death, with Edward’s sobs audible even through the rainfall, she knew that it took greater strength to be human. Knowing she’d really be a monster if she murdered, she took a step back and put him onto the buttress.

‘Get out!’ she spat at him curtly and shoved him to the ground for good measure.

He was nothing to her anymore.

‘Alfred!’ Edward could be heard, the boy’s pain breaking her heart, too.

She had to end this. She didn’t want to know Edward’s pain. She had to go and tell Mina she loved her before their time ran out.

She climbed back on the roof, up until the balcony. It was just a little too high up—Edward realised this and though weakened from grief, he walked over to help her.

‘Edward… you came back… you saved me…’

‘Of course I came back… I couldn’t let them… but…’

‘Alfred…’

‘Oh this is all my fault… If only I’d got here sooner…’

‘It’s not your fault…’

Edward was too overcome with tears to speak. So he held out a helping hand for her.

But just before she could reach him—she felt a stinging pain in her side! Deep, awful, unbearable pain! Something was wrong—very, very wrong!

She swayed…

‘No!’ Edward lunged forward to catch Florence from falling off the roof. As he did so, she lost her balance and they realised that it was Gaston, ungrateful she had spared his life, who sneaked up on her and stabbed her with a knife.

She swayed again, grabbing at anything to hold onto—and he, in his glee, lost his grip and his balance ever so slightly.

It was all it took. They watched with horror as he fell to his death into the abyss.

Florence winced… this was no good. Edward leaned over as much as he could, helped her onto the balcony, and examined her wound.

It was deep. Perhaps too deep to heal. They both knew it.

‘Florence!’ a sweet and sad voice called from the room.

Edward meant to protest but she didn’t care about her pain, didn’t care how much blood she lost. If this was to be her last minute, she wanted to spend it with her true friend and true love, Mina. And she had just one last thing to do.

She collapsed on the vanity.

‘No!’ Mina wept in a small voice.

‘Alfred is gone, Mina,’ Florence said with difficulty. ‘When I’m gone, make sure that Edward is seen to. This is his home now.’

‘Don’t talk like hat. You’ll be alright. We’re together now. Everything is going to be fine, you’ll see…’ Mina told her, ever so kindly, even if her words couldn’t be truer.

‘I just wish I got to see you one last time…’ Florence said weakly. With the last of her strength, she reached out to touch the glass, which only showed her, not her love. But as she looked at herself, for the first time she was glad. If she hadn’t looked like that, she wouldn’t have been able to defeat Gaston. She wouldn’t have been able to save Edward’s life. She wouldn’t have learned what it means to truly love someone, for their soul. Because she loved Mina even though she couldn’t see her. She pushed herself up with great difficulty until she reached the mirror and placed a soft, sweet kiss on its cold surface. ‘I love you.’

Her strength was waning. She was too weak to hold herself up. Behind her, the magic rose had wilted more than ever before. The last petal… quivering… falling….

‘No!’ Mina wept, hugging Florence’s unmoving body with her clumsy frame. ‘No, please! Please don’t leave me! I love you!’

And the last petal fell, its light extinguished by the time it hit the floor.

Edward fell on his knees by Alfred, picking him up and holding him close even though he knew it was pointless. He was gone, and so was Florence, and so they and the courtiers onlooking the sad scene would remain this way forever and ever.

Even Lumiere and Cogsworth, who always bickered, put their arms around each other, and Mrs Potts, and everyone. Although it was a long shot, hope died last.

The rain continued to fall and a gust of wind emerged out of nowhere. The draft swept through the room, hot and cold… a beam of light fell from the skies. One more. And another, and more and more…

Sparkling… glowing… blinding…

The draft picked up, it picked up Lady Florence’s body, lifting it off the ground, high above everyone who watched. She rose and rose, engulfed in a magical mist, until she was fully enveloped in blinding light…

Her mane turned into luscious fair hair… her claws into delicate hands… her robustness shrank… her elegant features… they were all returning… she was turning back to herself, her true self.

And, to everyone’s amazement, after it was all done, she heaved a breath of life and opened her eyes.

Confused and disoriented at first, she shook her head… until she noticed long fair curls falling into her eyes… she took it in… her arms, her hands, her body…

‘It’s me!’ she marvelled in wonder, turning right to Mina. Indeed, herself as she would have been at no older than twenty-one was looking back at her.

‘Lady Florence?’ Edward uttered in recognition. He saw her pale grey eyes meet his across the room, reflecting his own surprise. ‘It is you!’

Before they had any more chance to adjust to this, more glowing lights gathered in the room and Lady Florence was not alone anymore—the vanity turned into a lovely young woman with a kind face and a sweet smile. And ringlets that she wore with lace tied around them, just as she always did!

And Florence had to laugh out loud.

‘Wilhelmina!’

She never even got to her feet, the ladies were kissing, properly at last, in front of everyone, proud of their love.

Edward was so happy for them. They would know what he wouldn’t… Because Alfred… Alfred was…

Was nowhere. He lost him, he had the hairbrush in his hand just a minute ago but now—he could hardly see anything for the light!

When he dared to look, just a few feet from him lay the man of his dreams: his golden hair just like in the paintings, golden eyelashes over his alabaster cheeks… apparently asleep like an angel.

‘Alfred… Alfred… my love…’ Edward pleaded, hoping, hoping…

And to his immense relief, Lord Alfred was coughing madly the next second, keeling over from the intensity of it! The ladies were quicker and they helped him up, dusting him off because he was already fussing.

‘… and my hair—oh.’ Lord Alfred fell silent as soon as he saw him.

And for the first time, Edward could truly behold those big blue eyes that seemed to sparkle like stars.

‘What happened?! The bullet…’ Mina wondered, still terrified Alfred was going to drop dead any second.

‘Well, it didn’t really put a hole in me. It just… dented me!’ Alfred guessed, feeling his stomach to make sure he really wasn’t holey in the middle. ‘And I suppose I couldn’t really die. I was a hairbrush!’

He laughed awkwardly—even then, his smile was radiant, and Edward honestly couldn’t believe his eyes. He thought he lost Alfred. But he was there, he was alive. Very much alive! And so gorgeous Edward forgot how to stand.

He could have happily spent the rest of his life just admiring this beautiful young man. Happily.

The ladies had tact and stepped aside. Indeed, once Alfred and Edward’s gazes met, there was no one and nothing that could come between them.

Alfred stepped over to Edward, giving him a hand. Their touch was electric. Edward rose, Alfred supporting him, never taking their eyes off each other. For all the enchantments, this was the most magical moment either of them had experienced in this castle.

Strange… just minutes ago there had been a storm yet now the sun rose on the horizon and showered the castle in warm, bright rays. Where there had been snow all over the grounds, flowers bloomed again like on an unusually warm mid-Autumn morning.

‘Enchanting, don’t you think?’ Lord Alfred asked Edward without looking at the scenery.

Edward couldn’t help himself any longer, he had to kiss Alfred. Afraid of what he’d done at first, it was so brief. Too brief. He kissed him again, wanting more now that he got a taste. And again, and this time he had no wish nor any chance to break it all too soon as Alfred pulled him close to himself, running his fingers in his chestnut curls, soaking up his presence. Together, properly, at last.

More glowing lights showered the room, the castle, the entire estate!

And one by one, every one of them returned to their true forms, along with the very castle shedding its gargoyles and cobwebs.

‘Lumiere! Cogsworth!’ Lady Florence rejoiced at the sight of her friends.

‘Papa! Mama!’ Alfred gasped—her parents were back to normal, too… and embarrassing him and Edward greatly with their looks and giggles.

‘Oh, Mrs Potts! Look at us!’ Florence laughed, so glad to see her, too!

‘Mama! Mama!’ a little boy ran into Mrs Potts’s arms. Chip!

‘It is a miracle!’ said Lumiere but everyone was distracted as they realised that through the open doors they could all see Prince Ernst and Harriet kissing, unaware of their audience.

Lord Anglesey cleared his throat and the lovebirds flew apart, not at all sorry.

‘Oh, what shall we do now, Florence?’ Wilhelmina turned to her love.

‘Oh, I think… a ball is in order!’

A ball! Everyone was so pleased for the idea of a ball!

‘Isn’t that what you wanted, Edward?’ Alfred teased him sweetly, still in his arms. ‘Daring swordfights, magic spells, a prince in disguise… though I hope I will do.’

‘Do?!’ Edward could barely control himself he had to kiss and hold Alfred and make sure with his own eyes and hands that he really was standing there, rubbing his nose so sweetly against his own. ‘And what do you want to do now that you’re back?’ he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too scandalous in tone.

Alfred seemed to catch his meaning but with everyone watching…

‘I think I should like to… ride! And run! And dance! And swim!’ he said honestly.

Everyone could relate—now that they had their bodies back, they wanted to use them: cooks cooked, seamstresses sewed, musicians filled the rooms with jolly music!

Alfred took Edward by the hand as soon as no one was looking. They went riding for hours and hours in the sun! It was as if all the summers that the castle had missed out on because of the curse were being caught up on and they were blessed with the most heavenly weather for all activities.

Edward was right: Alfred was every bit as dreamy in the saddle as he imagined—a knight in shining armour indeed! He fell in love with him more and more every minute: his smile that shone brighter than the sun, his wit, his voice, and… when they got too hot and took a plunge in the lake, even more.

They were the talk of the castle until the day of the ball came they left their bedroom so little.

Lord Alfred still liked to fall asleep listening to Edward’s heartbeats.

Edward never had to go without a book. His favourite place to read was... In Alfred's arms.

On the night, Lady Florence and Miss Wilhelmina Coke began the dancing. It had been only a few days but the princess was positively glowing, so beautiful they all already struggled to remember what she was like as a cursed beast.

But it wasn’t just that she and Miss Coke and everyone else had their shiny hair and youthful looks back. No, it was a new kind of beauty radiating from them, something coming from within.

Edward protested at first but Lord Alfred was promised a dance and they had one, and two, and a dozen more.

Maurice was invited, too—the only villager present. Mrs Potts would not let him leave out of gratitude for watching Chip during the battle. Maurice was not in a hurry to return to the village and if it was up to Edward he would ensure his father stayed in the castle, too. Lord and Lady Anglesey found him very agreeable, as well as their son! Edward knew his fears weren’t unfounded, remembering how he was disgraced and ridiculed by the villagers, but he couldn’t be happier to have everyone’s support at this special court, above all that of both his and Alfred’s parents. He felt like he had a full family again.

With time, the king and queen came to visit and Lady Florence was strong enough to stand up to them and withstand their bullying. They would never come around but they didn’t disown their daughter. Some years later, when the king died and she was made queen, she made marriage for all possible by royal decree. She married Wilhelmina within a fortnight.

Edward and Lord Alfred followed suit not long after.

And so they lived happily ever after.

The end.


End file.
